Patrick Turner Observes
by MariaLujan
Summary: Dr. Turner sees little things in Sister Bernadette.
1. Chapter 1

Patrick Turner Observes.

I.

It wasn't the first time she was in charge. In the years he worked side by side with Nonnatus, he saw Sister Bernadette several times taking care of her superior's duties. It was evident that the older nun preferred her for her efficiency and determination. He wondered if she would replace her one day, when Sister Julienne decided to retire. Nonnatus House could not be in better hands.

"Doctor?"

He blinked, leaving behind the assumptions his head was building. He fixed his eyes on the little blue figure that looked worried. Yes, now he remembered about four times when he knew that the hand that ordered everything in Nonnatus was that of Sister Bernadette.

However, this situation was extraordinary, because Sister Monica Joan had escaped and was now back with a pneumonia that could lead her to death. He wondered if Sister Bernadette was wishing her superior was here, instead of her dealing with the distressing situation.

He decided to tell her the truth.

Then he repented when he saw her even more worried. She was frowning and her hands twisted, and there he knew that this little nun was too young. What was she doing there, instead of worrying only about choosing which dress she would wear at the next dance?

He said something about penicillin and she nodded although her anguish was still there.

He should stay with her, help her with whatever she needs, take some burden off her shoulders. But he had too much to take care of, and he also had a son.

When he left Nonnatus House, he found himself looking at the sky. He had not prayed for years.

"Oh God, please, make Sister Monica Joan recover. If not, this girl will die of guilt."


	2. Chapter 2

II.

That Christmas would be painful, he sensed it and then confirmed it when the day came.

He didn't know how to handle the situation. What did he say to an orphaned mother child? Did he wish "Merry Christmas" even though the boy had seen his mother die slowly? Was he giving him a gift and hoping he would forget the memory of the woman who loved him and took care of him until the last of his days?

He hated these holidays. Everyone seemed happy, everything shone, but he was a gray widower with a child who understood little and at the same time understood too much. He wanted to sleep and wake up in the new year, with all these silly parties already far from him and his child.

Many asked him how he was, with whom he would spend Christmas, what Timothy was doing. He answered with a smile and changed the subject. He knew they felt sorry.

Only one person asked with genuine interest. And besides, she caressed his soul ensuring that everything would be fine.

When Patrick went home with his son he looked at him, and knew she was right. Tim was much stronger than he thought, and he would grow up and be a teenager and then be a man. He had to stay whole so that his son had an example, he had, like Tim, to be resilient.

Sister Bernadette was too, apparently. He was surprised when she told her experience. She was worried but he felt her urgency to provide help, and at the same time the joy of being able to share something. He saw it on her face, with a very small smile, and her voice that did not denote the moral superiority of a nun, but the concern and advice of a friend.

He regretted that Trixie interrupted, rambled on how the conversation would have continued. Maybe some questions about she had more family besides her father, if he later married, or died too... He knew she was Scottish but that was all. A little more information would help him compare with his current situation and thus know what scenarios he should face for the sake of his son.

Definitely, he should talk more with her. He did not know how to return to that conversation, after all she was a nun and surely there were certain forbidden topics to talk, even more with lay people. But he was not seeing her as a nun, but as someone to ask for help, advice. She could help him, he was sure.

He arrived almost late to see his son playing the violin, but he succeeded and saw his son's little mischievous smile. Patrick Turner knew that he finally did something as a father, beyond giving him home, education and food.

His chest was full of joy for his little one. Christmas was as painful as he expected, but they were also making some happy memories.

As a proud father he looked at those around with a satisfied smile. He wanted to stand up and shout "Look, that's my boy!" but he knew that his son would not appreciate it.

His eyes met the row of nuns who enthusiastically applauded the small actors. He did not know that they could be there, he imagined that Christmas was lived in a convent according to strict rules that did not include representations of children in disguise. One of them looked at his son and then looked at him. She made a small nod and he replied with another. Her eyes were so blue and expressive that she didn't need to speak so he knew they would be fine. She talked to God, she sure knew that information.

He laughed at his nonsense and saw his son approaching to give him a hug.

"You arrived on time!"

When he left the parish hall with Tim chattering about the behind the scenes, he saw Sister Bernadette standing near the door. She looked at her son and made another nod, this time she gave a bright smile.

They would be fine.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

He couldn't tell her how good she looked. Nor could he tell her what he wanted to say.

He approached her to try to start the conversation he wanted about his son and her childhood. He needed advice, Tim had good days and others when he became a fierce rebel and rude and he rebuked him and punished him and everything was even worse. Maybe she knew how to treat a child, maybe she also behaved like that when she was a child. For two seconds he imagined her as a girl and was surprised because surely she did not differ from the present. She seemed to remain so.

He approached with an unintelligible nervousness for him and she turned to look at him, ready to help in anything.

But he couldn't say a word. He hid with a cough and said nonsense about missing medications and then fled like a coward. He ran away because he felt he was burning.

She had those eyes. They were as always and at the same time they were different and he could not deduce what made them different until he got into his car, still chased by them.

He had no idea of fashion, that was evident to everyone, in fact his robe was proof of that with its missing buttons. So it was normal that he did not immediately notice that the difference is that she wore other glasses, bright and light glasses that would be the envy of a movie star. The glasses highlighted their already wide eyes, made them brighter. They made her more beautiful, incredibly beautiful.

What was happening and why he thought of her this way, he didn't know. What he did know was that he wanted to keep looking at her forever.

He spent the days watching her. He felt like a visitor in a museum watching a work of art.

Of course, that didn't mean anything else. He just looked at her, because they were no longer her glasses or her eyes, but something else.

She was different. He didn't know how he didn't notice it before, but now he saw it before him. She was prettier and younger than the other sisters, simpler and smaller than nurses, more refined and educated than ordinary Poplar women, more stubborn and competent than him.

Her hands were pale and thin but with signs of hard work, such as well-cut nails and some calluses. Her voice was firm and sweet at the same time, and her intelligence and reflexes were quick and cunning.

She was different and that was worth looking at. Not because something happened to him but out of curiosity.

However, all those thoughts did not prepare him to hear her talk about her faith. She very solicitously brought Nurse Miller's records and then asked him if he needed anything. He could interpret it as a courtesy to someone working at this time of night, after a tragic day where a baby died inexplicably. But he didn't hear only courtesy. He surprised himself, at what time did he think he knew her well enough to distinguish her intentions and her voice changes?

He asked for some of her faith. The words came out before he could stop them, he knew immediately that he had committed something close to heresy. But she not only did not rebuke him, but turned absolutely everything, leaving him confused. She spoke of her faith in so few simple words, in a soft voice but could see the determination in that sentence. She was a nun who allowed herself to doubt, and that was suddenly fascinating.

He felt a terrible desire to learn more about her. It was no longer knowing about her childhood but what she thought about life. He needed to know about her and he didn't understand why, he needed to learn from her, sit down and philosophize about existence and death, and the world, and everything.

Sister Bernadette remained still after her declaration, with her hands clasped and the ghost of a smile in her mouth. She took a few steps and he stopped her, for the second time perplexed by his own actions, not believing that just seconds passed while he saw a maelstrom of thoughts go through his head.

He told himself that it was only a tea, surely that didn't infringe religious rules, but her quick refusal and the excuse, because it sounded like that, of having dinner with her sisters, it said that he had crossed a limit.

She was a mystery and his fingers itched to solve it.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

She was a saint. Or an apparition of the Virgin Mary. Or an angel.

He was not sure of finding a denomination, but he was sure that she came down directly from the sky. It could not be otherwise when he had just seen her with a newborn in her arms, returning its life, tearing its little soul from the clutches of death.

A few minutes ago, he was only taking time to dry his fingers with a cloth next to a worried father. In his head he only thought of the strange situation of two twin sisters living with only one man, following old customs and behaving in a sullen manner with people. He saw strange things in Poplar, but this one stood out.

Then he entered the room to see how things progressed, sat in a delivery chair that would not have been used since the Middle Ages, and waited.

In his head was no longer the life of the Carter sisters and their strange traditions, none of that could matter less when Sister Bernadette was in this dark and dirty place, illuminating it with her presence.

She and Nurse Franklin took care of everything, so he just stayed there in case the delivery went wrong. He decided to continue his observation task, since he had nothing else to do.

While the aching woman talked about her mother and sister, both midwives listened attentively. All of them were empathic, always seeking the relief of women and willing to listen to them. He knew it and saw it countless times, but that night he focused on her, discovering endless new things: the calm face as she listened; her pose sitting on the bed next to Trixie, relaxed and sure of having everything under control, with an almost friendly attitude towards the young nurse; her gaze full of compassion towards the terrible drama lived by the Carter sisters and their mother; and then her attitude resolved and with a smile to reach the gas and air mask when a contraction disfigured the face of the parturient.

In his mind appeared just a second of a scene happened a few days ago when he was called to take the miraculous gas to another simple birth. He did not understand why he felt almost happy when he saw that this birth was being assisted by Sister Bernadette, but he stopped asking himself when, after seeing the calming effect of the gas on her patient, she turned to him, raising her face and giving him a smile full of relief that he could only correspond.

A shout from the poor woman brought him to reality and stood up. Sister Bernadette looked at him over her shoulder for just half a second, then did it again and asked if he wanted to take care of this birth. He couldn't think much about those looks because everything was rolling down too fast.

The quiet night became a chaos since she pronounced "Transversal" with a voice full of professionalism that he felt he admired. He rebuked himself for observing this when he had to do his job but he couldn't help it, he still felt the brush of her fingers after passing the first baby into her arms.

And definitely, it didn't help to have her by his side seeing how she pressed her lips with the force she had to do to turn the baby, or hearing the gasp of triumph she released when she achieved it, which allowed him to see even the perfect teeth of her mouth.

He worked, he did it because he had two lives in the hands, but a part of his head seemed to be occupied with noticing the soft whisper of her habit and its starchy smell, which surpassed that of blood and fluids. He admired her again for keeping calm, for the sweet words she said even if everything was every second worse.

Then, for a moment, he forgot where he was and why. He was removed from his work position, was thrown to the ground and the worst, he saw that she was beaten. All his blood boiled, he was willing to kill because someone dared to touch her. The chaos was worse, but the situation was channeled in two beats. Barely a glance at her told him she was fine, that it was only a scare.

And then happened what he knew he would remember all his life.

A small baby, almost without possibilities, rocked by her, who carefully pushed aside the green blanket, shining the ring that separated her from a secular life. The soft blow on the little face, the wait. He thought he was listening to angels while he saw her, until a small groan and a "Praised be the Lord" broke the spell.

If he felt he admired her, at that moment he knew that he was before a higher entity. Yes, she was surely a saint.

He saw her smile, relieved and happy, then he smiled at the occurrence of putting both little sisters together with their strange mothers.

And so, the story is over.

Or so he thought.

Because she smiled again, this time a smile he never saw, a mischievous smile. And blue eyes full of memories. And her mouth on the cigarette he had just smoked.

He felt euphoric: he knew something else about her, he got one more piece of the puzzle that constitutes this mystery that was Sister Bernadette. Under this nun was a young woman who was a motherless girl and a 14-year-old teenager who stole cigarettes from her father. She was not just a nurse exhausted from a long night at work, she was a woman who was encouraged to ask "just a puff" of his cigarette.

He watched her leave while he stayed a few more minutes finishing smoking. He saw her figure grow smaller and smaller, and as he watched it, he connected in his head everything that happened at night, everything he saw, with this last surprise she had just given him.

He jumped, frightened, when he notice the result of everything: he, Patrick Turner, no longer just observes.

Patrick Turner is in love.


	5. Chapter 5

V.

He tried to convince himself that no. That this was a crazy experiment to observe and elucidate who she really was. But why did he do it? Why did he suddenly care to know who she was? He could not find reasons and those he found took him directly to the revelation he had while smoking the cigarette after the birth of the Carter twins.

At some point in his stupid task of looking at her, he had gone from just doing that, looking at her, to feeling something. Because the truth was that every time he looked at her, he felt something. The simple observation, suddenly was too little for him and he had to restrain the urge not only to look far away but to approach and touch. He felt like a child who is not content to see the candies, wants to have them in his hands and savor them.

The luck of being a doctor in Poplar was that he lived covered with work and that distracted him from the silly thoughts. Although working involved seeing her and interacting with her, the professional and patient cases were always in the middle, which allowed him not to hear the voice in his head that repeated how beautiful her eyes were or how soft her white skin looked.

That day, his behavior was atrocious. His son looked at him with sadness, pain, and discomfort at being in a place full of women and babies. Tim asked for help with the eyes but he just walked towards him and shook his arm, downplaying his wound and ranting against the school from which his son had been almost expelled like a dog, and now he treated him as if it were that, an animal and not his own son. Sister Bernadette told him that the children were resilient, but that didn't mean he could treat Tim that way. The excuses for overwork and widowhood were just that, excuses. What examples was he giving his son?

She approached. He didn't know if it was to help or why he was making a little scandal leaving his patients to shout at the boy. He was convinced that it was the last thing, after all, any of the nuns or nurses would have come to send him back to work and leave this scene fun and at the same time pitiful to the eyes of the patients.

Also, any of the women he worked with would have given him the severe look she gave him when he explained the situation and shook Timothy's arm again. God, how could he behave like this, what did she think when she saw him so upset, behaving like the worst father in the world? And why did he care what she thought of him?

She did what anyone would have done, but he doubted that any nun or nurse had achieved with a simple look to calm the storm. How had she done it, so simple, just by looking at him? She was a professional, surely in nursing school they studied how to calm people. But that look, so clear, so full of love and understanding, that look was impossible to learn, that look was born from the soul.

Even in her stern look he saw a little understanding. How did she do it? How did she seem to have an inexhaustible patience?

She gently took Tim's battered arm, talked to him like a mother could, and his son relaxed immediately. She did it because she knew what it was like to feel alone, without a mother and without help, and Patrick felt almost happy to be able to interpret one of her gestures based on what he knew about her.

Then he saw her, looking up, asking permission with her eyes, and assuring him that everything was fine. He immediately also relaxed, looked at his son and heard his own voice come out softer and calmer, until he felt that his face had a small smile, and all together it made him a little what Timothy was looking for, a father.

She looked at him again, he saw something like gratitude and also...Could he say he saw yearning? Could she give him that kind of look, in which he could read more than charity?

He rebuked himself immediately, was rambling and once again, forgetting his own son. However, she also couldn't smoke and did it days before with him. And she couldn't doubt her faith either, and she did. She did things that she supposedly couldn't, and that made her, once again, a huge enigma. Maybe she wasn't happy with her life, or…

Sister Bernadette's soft voice taking Tim to a chair distracted him. She was good with children. And she was a nun. He had to stop looking at her and take care of his chaotic life, without always resorting to the help of others.

That night for the first time in months he had an enthusiastic talk with his son while they ate their chips. He wanted to mend his attitudes in the afternoon, and Sister Bernadette helped him once again, indirectly, because the talk was about her virtues. Tim couldn't stop talking about her and he couldn't stop agreeing, which made Tim feel happier and therefore he too. The boy even took out his colors and quickly drew a picture for her, which he promised to deliver. Their conversation continued revolving around the fact that she was good, she was sweet, she was intelligent and above all, she was beautiful.

And Patrick couldn't stop smiling at all that.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

He never heard her laugh.

He recounted the various things he knew about her, almost making a mental inventory of the collection of memories linked to her that had been gathering for a while, and among them, her laughter was not.

Foolishly he thought that laughing was not allowed in a religious sister, that her life had only professional words, prayers, religious songs, and the occasional smile. He did not imagine that she could laugh, and scream, and give encouragement and little jumps that made her look like a girl.

God, she's almost a girl. He looked at his son and could not help feeling guilty, she was almost like him in size and laughed like him and was having fun playing her whistle and watching them practice for the three-legged race.

But he knew she wasn't a girl. She might seem so, but he knew perfectly well that she was a woman capable and full of courage.

"Come on, we have to practice again!" Timothy pulled him to the starting line. She laughed with a mouth full of white teeth like the sound of bells and played with the whistle between her fingers, while taking care that no one cheated.

Then he heard her cries of encouragement and for the first time in a long time, he felt happy. His son kept screaming and smiling, glad his father had time for him, and she was around, lighter, just laughing and enjoying the moment, without worrying about the routine in the little space between her eyebrows. There were other people but they didn't matter, he could see, in all three together, a picture similar to a family.

Of course he was in love with her. There was no point in denying it, lying to himself. He felt the stupidest man on Earth, of all the women there were, it just had to be her, the most forbidden and remote. Anyway, any man who had taken two seconds to observe her would also have fallen in love.

But why did he do it? Why did one day he think it was a good idea to look at her, try to know who she was? Why did he get into such a problem himself?

He couldn't find answers, only one that bothered him a lot: he started looking at her, that cold afternoon when she was the one with the voice of command in Nonnatus, when he thought she was too young to be there, because he had felt something for her so much before, but he didn't know. The feelings were latent, waiting to leave.

If not, why her and not another? All the nuns were a mystery, nobody knew their real names, or where they came from. If he wanted to elucidate mysteries as a low category Sherlock Holmes, why did he choose her, instead of any other?

All the questions led him to solve that he would love her that way, from afar and without disturbing her. He could live with that.

However, things did not go as he wanted. He could see a family with her and his son because hours before he had seen something in her that he never saw.

The topic to be discussed were the needs that could be met with the collection of the summer fair. He asked her, when he could have asked Sister Julienne, that she was also very aware of what was needed. But he went to her, because he liked her and because he was her friend, although he was sure she didn't consider him that way.

So he looked at her while he smoked, tempted to offer a puff, leaning against the counter and relaxed at the sight, calm with his feelings at bay. He loved her, yes, but he could work with her, just look at her, and everything would be fine.

Her accent was thicker when she was stubborn, and that seemed charming. She gathered and accommodated things, her voice had a touch of pride in talking about how capable she and the other women were to cope with what they had. Her white hands were busy with the boxes and he could see her thin wrists and a little blush from the heat and work of the day. He could see her all afternoon, with the sunlight bathing her and making her look ethereal.

He said a phrase that anyone could misinterpret, but she stopped, smiled at the floor, and gave up, starting a list of things that would be useful for the clinic. She even looked dreamy when talking about a water heater, making everyday things special.

He approached her without thinking. This was not in his plans, he wanted to keep watching her from afar. She mentioned that they heated the water so that he could wash his hands and the sudden thought she took care of him in this silent way made him get closer. She talked about spirit lamps and he took one, not knowing why, he knew them perfectly. She was very close, breathing agitated. She looked at the lamp he held in the hands, she was so close that he could, for the first time, notice that her eyelashes were blond. Maybe her hair was too? He couldn't think about it anymore, because she looked up and he looked at her.

In that look that disturbed him other times, he could see something clearly: he was not alone in this. That look asked for help, asked him to love her as he was loving her.

He could never feel more grateful to have a screamed and impolite son. If Tim didn't appear, he would have kissed her. Suddenly, loving her in silence was not a valid and simple path, not when he could see that she felt the same, not when he looked again at his memories and found other similar looks, and smiles, and sweet words. He would have kissed her, he was sure, and so he would have broken the "friendship" he had with her.

Sister Bernadette broke the contact, looked almost embarrassed and hid it by smiling at Tim, asking him about the three-legged race he had just practiced in front of her, who no longer seemed ashamed but happy with her life.

Of course, everything could be his imagination. He was ashamed to be an old man, who had seen so many things in the life, and suddenly to be thinking that a young and beautiful nun could love him. Marianne would have laughed out loud at him.

He thought since when Marianne's memory didn't hurt him cruelly, since when he could think in her laughter and not in her suffering.

Since I started the stupid task of observing Sister Bernadette, he answered. She, again, was helping him without knowing it. How not to love her?

However, he set out to stay away again, letting thoughts about her illuminate him, even when he was in his gray and depressing office attending to children bitten by rats.

He would only think about her, observe her, and that would be all.


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

The party could not be better. There were more people than on other occasions and Tim seemed happier than ever, although he knew that was due more to the expectation of the three-legged race than to the obligation to dress up as a girl for the play with the Cubs.

He listened here and there to people anxious for the arrival of a television celebrity. He didn't know who he was, although he had a device at home, he never had time to sit in front of it and watch any of the programs. Still, it was nice to see everyone excited enjoying a free afternoon.

Fred had on his face the pride of a Broadway director when he introduced his Cubs and the representation of Robin Hood began. It was a small disaster but that could not matter less when the children were trying their best. He couldn't help laughing at Tim and in the head he began to invent dozens of jokes that would make just to annoy him.

He felt light and calm, enjoying the party and the little musical, but he also felt observed. He looked sideways, and he saw her. She was a few meters away, smiling too, or rather, trying to quell laughter. The fleeting thought of her watching him as he did with her for months moved him, but he totally dismissed that. He must not imagine things, he should not distract himself from his son.

Nurse Lee scared him when she approached him almost crying. He was used to being searched at any inconvenient time but on that bright and happy afternoon, he hoped that no one would suffer and need him. That hope was in vain, he had to leave the place. In his head he could already hear Tim's claims, the boy hated that he was always for others and not for him, and this time he would not forgive so easily. He knew he was ruining his son's fun for a miscarriage, something he didn't believe at all as soon as the nurse told it.

He mentally prepared himself for what he would surely find, while a part of his head calculated the minutes to reach at least the three-legged race. If he didn't arrive on time, Timothy would be more disappointed than ever. Maybe if he bought him a gift later...He shook his head as he entered the dismal and depressing building where his patient was. He couldn't think of compensating Tim with material things, he couldn't buy his son's love in that way. However, it was the only alternative he had left.

Of course it was an induced abortion. The poor woman was almost on the verge of death, she had turned to who knows what butcher who surely took away the little money she had.

According to Sister Julienne, there were many children. He never prayed, but he prayed that the woman would not die. He could not with a single child, he did not want to imagine how a poor man would do to care for many children. He clenched his fists, anger over injustices like this left him impotent as he couldn't give solutions.

He left the women in the place, they practically threw him out and he was grateful for their compression. He had to go back to the party although his mood had changed completely. He must keep his word with Tim.

When he arrived, his heart fell to the floor. The screams told him that the race was over or that it was about to do it. He mixed among the people, fearful of finding Tim's disappointed and sad face, watching the others run while he was only on one side.

However, he saw what he could never have imagined. His son was there, running and laughing, hugging Sister Bernadette, carrying her as if she were a paper in the wind. She laughed too but on her face was disbelief. Was Tim so bold as to ask her if she could accompany him? Or did she volunteer? Either one put his head in the clouds: the first thing would confirm that Tim adored and loved her, the second that she cared for his son and could also give herself permission to have fun with him. Although there was also the possibility that she simply felt sorry for a helpless child and father and took the opportunity to do her charity work of the day.

The thought failed to sink his heart because his mouth and feet moved forward, and he was already running among the people to see them closer while shouting "Come on sister!"

He was not even surprised when he first shouted at her before at his son. But he was surprised when they won and fell to the ground. It was a beautiful surprise, he was not for Tim, but the boy managed to win and he deserved it.

He approached them, heard her exclaim still incredulous that they had won. He didn't know much what else happened, the image of her without her glasses hit him directly. She looked younger and angelic, the eyes wider and clearer. A smile that he felt happy to know, adorned her face: it was that mischievous smile that he saw in her that time they shared a cigarette. Behind that smile was not Sister Bernadette, but who knows who, someone he did not know and was eager for it to come to light.

Tim wanted to leave to look for his medal, but Patrick stopped him. The boy looked at him, he was angry and upset with his father, and Patrick would apologize later, but first he had to untie his son from Sister Bernadette's leg.

His hands receded before he could give them the order. He simply wanted to untie them, but he was a man, and she was a nun. The person he wanted to know behind that name that he knew did not belong to her, disappeared, and the barriers between them rose. The simple act of untying a ribbon from her ankle, to which his son was also tied, was impossible. He sighed imperceptibly, relieved that he had not proceeded impulsively and, in an effort to help her, make her feel uncomfortable.

She did it quickly even though she didn't have her glasses, which reminded him to look for them so as not to stare at her ankle and her thin and agile hands. To distract himself, he thought she might have been very hot with those thick and black socks and heavy shoes, but that didn't help. It was impossible that the sudden mental image of her with bare feet and legs would help him somewhat.

He found the glasses and handed them to her, feeling a little sad that she covered her beautiful eyes with glasses, but she needed them and she also looked very pretty with them. She took the glasses carefully not to touch him, balancing while standing up. He wanted to offer his hand to help her, or take her by the waist to lift her, but his thoughts and good intentions had to end there.

However, it was impossible to stop them.

His son would receive the tin medal they would give him for winning the race, but she wouldn't get one because she couldn't keep personal possessions. Maybe she kept the green ribbon she held in her fingers, and that would be all. He swallowed, if it were for him, he would give her everything she wanted.

The sight of blood took him out of his foolish ramblings. She had dirty hands and her habit was also dirty and wrinkled, but one of her palms had a wound. Suddenly the desire to protect her emerged, and made her notice the wound. She responded with a joke, which at another time he would have appreciated. This time he didn't, because she joked, yes, but she was nervous. She said those words and laughed, playing down her wound, because she was nervous. And for that very reason, she left quickly, moving away from him as if he had the plague.

It wasn't his imagination, he saw it clearly. But why that nervousness when just a few seconds before she had been radiant with joy? Some of his actions had made her feel that way, but he didn't know which ones. If she had realized that he was observing her, that he was almost constantly watching her, he would be lost.

She left, and he stared everywhere. His son no longer needed him, the woman seriously ill either, the nurses did not require his opinion, and Sister Bernadette was gone. When no one needed him, when he couldn't help, he felt the most lonely and useless man in the world.

He told himself again and again that it was to help her. That the least he could do for her was that. By the way, he would thank her for accompanying Tim, and for everything. He would approach as a friend, chat with her, and then leave to continue enjoying the party.

When he pulled away the plastic curtains, he didn't know very well what he felt. She looked beautiful even though she was only in a kitchen, leaning over a sink. The afternoon light entered directly and illuminated her, and she had her hand extended, the sleeve of the habit a little higher, revealing a little more of her arm. Her chest rose and fell, perhaps agitated by the race, or by the pain of cold water cleaning the wound. He thought he heard her mutter something, and he saw that her eyes were on her hand, the eyelashes he now knew were blond, shaking, and her lips parted and a little dry. It was a perfect vision of her, he discovered that her profile could be envied by the Queen herself.

She seemed not to have noticed his presence until he spoke. He told nonsense, of course, as he had been doing lately whenever he was close to her. The wound was small, and she was Poplar's best nurse, or perhaps the best in the country, and she was surrounded by medical supplies. She could manage alone, but he spoke before he could think about all that.

She could have told him that, or that she didn't need him, or that he was idiot for asking such stupidity.

But she didn't do any of that.

She said yes, and extended her hand to him, and again that look asking for help, as if she was giving her hand to him so that he would get her out of there and from her life. Her face was clearer than ever, he could see the total trust placed in him. This was not the work of his imagination. She was talking to him with her eyes and her actions, and he felt he could not ignore her anymore.

As if it were an act of religious worship, he gently took her wet hand and looked at the wound. It was small, but her hand was also in his. He traced only the contours, looking at the clean blood that still sprouted lazily. The marks of the hand and the veins of her wrist were delicate, he feared for its fragility. Everything about her was soft, perfect as her scent so close to his nose. He felt himself entering a dream in which he could only hear her breathing, more agitated now.

The dream ended before it could begin. His lips barely felt her skin, the cold dampness, barely her taste, and then the tug and she escaping from him, moving away forever. He was stunned and closed his hands on his chest, to retain at least her air with him.

He told her that it was unforgivable, and he said it sincerely. He did not reason, he was delighted by her closeness, by her confidence that he betrayed. It was a desperate and impulsive attempt to tell her what he felt, that he loved her, that he wanted to give her the help she seemed to ask for. But she was offended, turning her back. His mind ran right away with the worst scenarios: she hitting him, moving away, leaving Poplar forever, or ignoring him, avoiding him, or feeling afraid of him.

She barely turned her face, he could not see her, only her profile, which, like a fool, just a few seconds before had thought that the whole royalty would envy. Then he heard her voice, nervous and hurt, with some cryptic words that shattered his heart, put it back together, and broke it again. She didn't do it because she hated him, or because she didn't want him to come near her, she did it because she had no right and belonged to someone superior, and he respected that. Moreover, he respected it so much that he wanted to sink into hell right there for daring so much.

He left and left her, and that act made him feel even more miserable. He did this to her and left her alone, hurt, confused. He wanted to return, apologize again, really take care of her wound, but he knew that none of that would work.

When he went out, he felt the saddest, the most lonely, and the most useless man in the world.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.

He was angry.

For days, his life was going down and it seemed that this succession of mistakes and bad news would never stop.

Again and again he reviewed in his mind what happened, feeling guilty, thinking about the ways in which that should not have happened, the things he should have said and done instead of what he said and did. Sometimes other scenarios also appeared in his mind, which gave him a joy of only a second, until he returned to reality, to the guilt. In those scenarios she did not turn her back, she stayed with him.

As always, being a doctor in Poplar saved him from his own mind. His patients were first and a pregnant and tuberculous woman certainly topped the list of his concerns. He would do his best to save her, but hope was too little. However, he could save others. If he counted well, he could save hundreds of people. If he managed to diagnose the sick early, they would not die and would not infect the healthy.

When he entered Nonnatus, he hoped to see her. He did not even know why, the woman would turn away from him, and with good reason. But even if it was knowing that she was there, it would ease the tension and concern he felt for all the people in Poplar.

He did not see her, and was attended by Sister Julienne. Nor did he dare to ask about her, he had no excuse for doing so, and even more so when the subject he had to deal with Sister Julienne was of an urgent nature. They agreed that a simple van would make a difference, and set the day of their meeting with the board.

The day arrived, and as always, he was late. He fell asleep, and then argued a little with Tim because he did not want to go to school, and they had no cereal to eat, the toast were burned... Day by day, morning by morning, he confirmed that he was a lousy father and that the more silly household tasks were impossible for him.

When he arrived he got out of the car and leaned on its roof, reviewing the speech he said last night over and over in his head until he fell asleep. He would list the reasons, make a description of Poplar, comment on the case of the pregnant woman. With so many bad things that were going on in his life, this had to go well. It could not be that only the bad thing happened to him, something good had to happen and he was convinced that this would be.

He heard the door close and looked toward the stairs, thinking about what he would say to Sister Julienne, that although she did not reprimand in the same way as Sister Evangelina, some words would surely have to tell him about his delay.

He didn't have a mirror, but he was sure his eyes widened when he saw her. Going down the stairs quickly, was Sister Bernadette. He could only say her name, and she practically ignored him. His voice betrayed him, coming out choppy and thin, saying he was waiting for Sister Julienne. He cursed himself, saying that was like telling her that he didn't want to see her, that he preferred to see anyone but her, when it wasn't true.

She replied coldly, a terrible coldness that hurt him. She didn't even look at him, but looked at the street, or the door of the car just opened for her. She could speak seriously, or professionally, even severely, but she always had a touch of sweetness and understanding. That morning, however, all the ice was directed at him. There was no sweetness, only anger.

He said a complete stupidity about his tie. He didn't even know why he spoke, when it was clear that she was not interested in him. Before opening the mouth it seemed to him that it was not important to talk about his shortcomings as a father and cook, although it could be funny, she was not there for jokes. So he talked about the tie and she looked at his chest with... Pity? Contempt? Disgust? It was indecipherable. In the enigma she was, in the strange puzzle he had begun to assemble, that look did not fit anywhere. He tried to remedy all his mistakes by thanking her for her support, but she ignored him again.

Before he knew it, she was already inside the car, waiting for him to decide to stop feeling a victim for everything and get on the road.

He entered the car, looked at her barely, resigned. She stared forward, unchanging, ignoring him completely. Perhaps because of that, because she was more indifferent than ever with him, she seemed even more beautiful and more unattainable because although it was invisible, there was a huge wall separating them. She was there instead of her superior, like the first time he noticed her, and he was there as a doctor. They were two colleagues, very different from each other.

He thought about saying something else, but stopped. She was angry, furious with him, and also had to replace her superior and have to make this trip with him, and be taken by him in his car. Without a doubt, if he said one more word, if there was more nonsense from his mouth, she would lose her patience and would not hesitate to shout and slap him. So he decided to start the car and let his nerves flow everywhere except his mouth.

When they arrived, they walked through the limpid and gray corridors almost with a studied distance. In fact, he saw that they were walking with the same feet and at the same pace, as if they were soldiers in a parade, with their backs straight and facing forward. He could feel her closeness although he did not dare to move his eyes a millimeter to look at her.

All the time he looked at her and observed her in those months it had become a habit, almost a vice like his cigarettes, and now he tried with all his strength not to look at her, not to anger her more, not to make this situation even more uncomfortable, although he knew that if he barely moved his fingers, he would touch and squeeze her warm hand, which was so close and so far from his.

They sat in front of those impassive men. He hated them, although he didn't know them. Their faces of rich bureaucrats told him that no plea would take effect.

He started talking, maybe too fervently, maybe crawling too much. Although his head was focused on this, he was very aware of who was at his side. He did not know if she would help him, if her voice would be taken into account since she was not the head of Nonnatus House.

He also did not know if his passionate and angry attitudes against this group of men would be well regarded by her. He could scare her more, she could hate him more…

He concentrated on continuing to speak, ignoring the desire to punch the table when they told him it was normal for patients to die, which were the things of his job. How could they be so inhuman? How could they openly ignore what was happening in their city?

But she spoke, and for the first time in all that time, he could look at her, again amazed. She settled into the chair, looked at all the men, waved her hands, her voice trembling and almost desperate. She was far from the sweet and quiet nun, from what was expected to be a nun. She was angry, but she was channeling all that anger towards those guys. He felt stupidly proud for her words, for her passion, for the defense she was making of their work and their people. If she ran for prime minister, he would vote for her without hesitation.

He continued talking, feeling more relieved to see that men's faces changed a little. He heard her breathe agitated in anticipation as one of them told them they would evaluate the request. They had not won the war, but won a battle.

He knew that things had to go well that day, and seeing it confirmed only made him shoot almost running down the corridors, in his head seeing all the people that could be saved as soon as they could be diagnosed. He stopped suddenly and saw that she was following him from behind, still agitated, but with a smile brighter than the sun. She congratulated him choppy, looked him straight in the eye. Her gaze was clear, the Scottish fury disappeared to show him only the joy of a beautiful smile. He felt washed from all guilt, he felt forgiven. She lowered her eyes, suddenly very shy, and he congratulated her. They were a team, they had shown it to themselves, and together they worked very well.

She looked at him again, that look from the past that he loved and that he still couldn't understand very well, but that told him many things, except that she was angry. Then it seemed to be too much and she left, passing by, ignoring him again and following her path. He watched her go, the emotions stirring inside him again.

The confirmation filled him with joy. His day begun as a disaster and ended with a date and time for the arrival of an X-ray van. When he entered Nonnatus' dining room, Sister Monica Joan received him with a greeting that informed that they had been talking about him. Then he saw that she was there. What were they talking about? What had she told? For the first time in his life, he was deeply interested in knowing what a group of women said about him.

He could have stayed at the door, but his own feet led him to Sister Bernadette, and she raised her head to look at him with a smile, abandoning her food, and all her attention on him. It was very difficult to address all the women gathered there and not just look at her, it was very difficult not to say that thanks to her they had this good news, it was very difficult not to bow down and kiss that smile.

Her cheerful little voice saying "Wonderful!" destroyed his resistance and he looked at her, just a second, to see her face bright and happy like a girl. She was radiant, far from the indifferent woman who trampled his heart that morning.

When he left Nonnatus he took a deep breath.

It had been a good day.

And she didn't hate him.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hello everyone :)_

_Thanks for reading, I am very happy that you like what I do._

_In this chapter I included something very minimal that I read in "Dr Turner's Casebook" I really recommend the book if you don't have it yet._

IX

The rebel images piled up in his mind, and they refused to form an order so he could analyze them, so he could understand what was happening.

It was a mockery of fate, a sly grin of life, which had shown him some joy, before the terrible blow. It was like that little improvement that the dying have, a flash of happiness that is abruptly extinguished by death.

That's how he felt. Dead.

He just wanted to help people, save their lives, and the day began with a "Bloody hell!" seeing the amount of people who wanted to be helped, or who was just surrounding the van, out of curiosity.

Then he went to meet a doctor little interested in health and more interested in a crossword, but he managed to convince him very quickly and got to work, and there began the hectic but happy day he planned. Even the good weather was helping him, with a warm and sunny day.

Good humor was palpable everywhere, and for the first time in days he had laughter to contain, because seeing Sister Evangelina directing people as a general to the army was certainly funny.

He also saw good humor in her perfect little face, peeking out from behind a large box she carried while making her way through the people. He confirmed once again that she had no problems with him, that she could smile at him like that, look at him directly and feel natural around him without feeling discomfort or apprehension about his terrible attitude on the day of the party. It was as if this triumph that they had achieved together had erased the worst mistake of his life.

So there she was, with the card box, greeting him with her bright smile, her cheeks flushed from the heat and her clear and cheerful eyes. She was happy, he could tell, he could see her enthusiasm and energy swarmed everywhere, ready to go to work. He could also see the curiosity on her face. She was curious, he was noticing it more and more, and that made her adorable and admirable. A curious mind was an intelligent mind, and he had no doubt that she was brilliant.

He could not help answering her with a smile, and saying something about his wildest dreams, which seemed to intimidate her as she lowered her eyes, even more flushed.

Then he spoke to everyone as if he were the president of a nation, explained what would happen inside the van, and even felt proud to say her name to the people. She would be his assistant today, and that joy surely leaked into his tone, but he didn't even stop it. He felt happy and satisfied. Even the lazy doctor in charge of the van seemed to glow with enthusiasm when he saw Sister Bernadette, and he could see again the blush on her cheeks. For just a second he even felt jealous of that doctor, for looking at her and for his kindness and sympathy with her, but he immediately put his silly and selfish mind into the work.

He took Sister Bernadette's box, careful not to touch her hands, trying not to pass the fine and careful line that he himself drew so as not to break the delicate situation in which they seemed to have been for days and days. However, he took advantage of this new height he had, standing on the stairs, to look more closely at her face, at her smile, at her small and slightly red hands to hold the weight, and feel her delicate aroma that floated up to him.

Sister Evangelina's screams broke the entire spell, and the work began.

As people passed by, he took small "breaks" to see where she was. He felt silly, he didn't want to do it but his eyes always seemed to look for her desperate, and she was always there, writing cards, with the smile on her face, happy with her work and with the people around her.

Suddenly her attention was diverted to a girl, who like so many other children, refused to obey her mother. The girl looked fearful, scared of her mother and eager to cry. Who knows what she heard from other children about X-rays, and now the mother forced and scold her in front of the entire neighborhood.

She approached with a smile, spoke to her, and proposed a pact. How that came to her mind? Surely, it would never have occurred to him to do something like that. He would have talked to the mother, reassuring her to convince her daughter or to let enter someone else predisposed to the van. But she went to the girl, leaned down to speak as if she were her friend, and then got up and asked permission. Of course he said yes, he would say yes to everything she asked for, and more if she asked so sweetly.

He saw her sit in front of the machine, raising her chin, calm and confident. Hours later, he would remember that trust, and then the complicit smile with the girl, and how he took the opportunity to make her see how much he admired her, and she, of course, took off the credit. Until that moment everything was like the day: bright, warm, without worries. Only two colleagues working and feeling something else, hidden, but calm.

The adventure ended, Sister Evangelina was exhausted and voiceless, and the nurses gathered the last things to leave quickly, when the doctor called to show the radiographs of the less fortunate people of the day. With a sad dye in his voice, said that unfortunately, "the little nun" was also affected. He said something similar to condolences, or who knows what, because he no longer heard them.

Time passed in a blur of hours and visits to the other patients, until he stepped on Nonnatus. A small courtesy talk with Sister Julienne and then he asked to speak with Sister Bernadette, in private. The older nun distrusted the request, and she was right. Lately, he didn't have the best attitudes with her sister, but he begged that Sister Julienne wasn't aware of that.

He waited, trying to find the words to tell her. In fact, he had tried to look for those words while talking with the other patients, becoming almost cold and apathetic to them, but he couldn't get away from his head that he should say the same to her. Now that she appeared before him with such a smile and freshness in her voice, so cheerful and willing to chat, so open and confident in him, he had to erase all that by telling her the truth.

And yet, like a fool, he couldn't help smiling at her, one last smile for her last smile, before she frowned a little and her voice became a little worried, asking if all was well.

He invited her to sit down and she responded with another smile, although already more restless. He hated to provoke this, he just wanted to give her peace and joy, not make her feel this way.

He felt observed by her curious eyes, this time a curiosity that hurt him, while looking for the card. He just handed it to her, unable to say anything, letting her realize alone what was happening. She took it delicately and looked at it, and he wanted to cry when he heard her broken voice.

She was scared. For the first time, Patrick Turner was seeing Sister Bernadette scared. It was one more thing he knew about her, something he wished he hadn't known, because her trembling hands withdrawing as if the card burned her, and her eyes lowered and the seriousness of her face processing the news, were things he never wanted to see in her, who never wanted her to experience. But there she was, sitting in front of him, alone in a room, with harsh words and terrible certainties between them.

Her scared eyes asked for help and this time, he couldn't help her. He felt terrible, she had done it before, she always seemed to ask for something else with her gaze and he was just a fool who observed her doing nothing, and when he did it was to ruin things.

He knew that look full of fear as she asked how many injuries she had inside her body, or while she replied that she had no symptoms, would pursue him forever.

That night, alone at home, more abandoned than ever, the rebel images piled up in his mind, and they refused to form an order so he could analyze them, so he could understand what was happening.

It was a mockery of fate, a sly grin of life, which had shown him some joy, before the terrible blow. It was like that little improvement that the dying have, a flash of happiness that is abruptly extinguished by death.

That's how he felt. Dead.

Dead because the woman he loved most was sick. Dead because he was so close, so close that he could see the whiteness of her skin, the little freckles that stained her, her increasingly blond eyelashes, he could feel the scent he felt so many times around her, he could observe so many wonderful things, just to tell her she was sick.

He felt dead, because she was suffering and he couldn't get close, hug her, tell her everything would be fine.

He felt dead because she was alone.

And just as he could count the beautiful things about her, he could also count the most terrible, like the trembling of her fingers when she unzipped her habit, her breathing full of nerves, her distant eyes, refusing to look at him, the dry lips, the voice barely audible and full of tears, and the sound of her wounded lungs. He observed so many things, that he forgot to observe his own: his terrible fear of hearing what he already knew, his paralyzed breathing at the sight of her chest, or the force that his fingers made to free themselves from the resistance to touch her.

Again and again, the rebel images piled up in his mind, and they refused to form an order so he could analyze them, so he could understand what was happening.

It was a mockery of fate, a sly grin of life, which had shown him some joy, before the terrible blow. It was like that little improvement that the dying have, a flash of happiness that is abruptly extinguished by death.

That's how he felt. Dead.

Although he wrote in a cafe near the road, although he was watching and smiling at the waitress who coughed around him, although he was concentrating all his hatred on a bacterium, a simple and tiny bacterium that infected so many, that infected his woman, he felt dead.

She was gone and he took her away, first putting her suitcase in the car, then taking her to the hospital, and then to the sanitarium.

He wanted to say something, tried to say something that was comforting, or a word of encouragement, or a joke, or a sincere I love you that he would never let out of his mouth, but he just looked at her and started the car, leaving Poplar behind, maybe forever.

He barely touched her fingers when giving her suitcase, still thinking of something to say beyond information about the triple treatment she already knew.

But she, as angelic as ever, as a better person than him, blessed him with a sad smile, giving him that little relief and a few words, and walked away.

And he stayed, feeling dead, begging her to turn around and look at him.

But she did not.


	10. Chapter 10

This chapter has many invented parts because in episode 7 we see very little about Patrick.

Chapter Text

X.

"Dad."

He was counting the days, like a man in prison. They were more than twenty. And seven letters.

"Dad."

He wondered why she didn't answer. The side effects of a tuberculosis treatment calmed him down, even if it was a bit cruel to feel calm about it. She didn't answer because she felt bad.

"Daaaaad! Can you, for once in your life, listen to me?!"

He turned, startled. Timothy looked at him furiously, sitting on the other side of the table, with something in his hands.

"Son, you scared me."

Tim rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed.

"That's because you never remember that I'm here. Surely you thought of one of your patients, they are always more important than anything I tell you."

"Hey, stop there young man!"

His son was right. He was thinking of a patient, a very important one. And Tim was also right that he sometimes forgot that the boy was there, sharing a house with him, needing his attention. It hurt him that his own son spoke to him like that, Timothy was a sweet child and he must be very tired of having him as a father to speak to him that way.

Tim snorted, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry." He said when he saw that his son was even more angry. "What did you need, Tim?"

"I found this butterfly. It's dead."

"Oh, ok." He answered without giving it importance.

"Dad, it's dead, and it's very pretty. Don't you think it's weird?"

He was going to tell him that animals, and people, were dying no matter if they were pretty or not, but that would be too much for a child.

"What do you think happened to it?" Tim extended his hands. He carefully held the butterfly. "It was on the window sill."

He looked at the butterfly. It was a fairly common butterfly, although he knew nothing about insects. He never paid attention to those things, like most things around him.

But his son insisted.

"Can you check it?"

"Tim, I'm not a veterinarian, or a biologist, or a forensic surgeon."

"But you are a doctor."

He looked again at the insect. What could he tell him?

"Possibly died of old age."

"I don't think so."

This time he was who rolled the eyes.

"Then I don't know, Tim."

The boy sat back in front of him. He seemed very worried about the situation.

"You said that Sister Bernadette is in the sa...in that place."

"Sanatorium." He replied swallowing. He did not expect his son to mention her.

"You said that in the sanatorium there are experts in curing diseases."

"Yes."

"Do you think that if I send the butterfly…?"

"No, Tim. Definitely not."

"But I will send it to Sister Bernadette. She can ask the doctors there."

"You can't send her a dead butterfly."

"Why?"

"Because it's a horrible gift."

Timothy blinked. He felt that once again he had just ruined everything with his son.

"It's not a gift, I will send it for an autopsy. And I will do it even if you don't give me permission."

Tim ran to his room, still taking his dead butterfly very carefully.

He sighed, and instinctively his hands searched for his cigarette case and the lighter. He should have behaved differently with Tim. He was a curious child, who sought explanations for everything. He must be proud, other parents complained that their children were only interested in being in the street.

But the truth is that he could not concentrate. He had a hard time doing it at work, without her calming presence around him. He had a hard time doing it at home, when his concern for her health, and for his feelings, seemed to haunt him even in dreams.

He set the cigarette case and lighter on the table, and instead took a sheet of paper and a pen from Tim, which was on his school books.

He started another letter. He would tell her about Tim and the butterfly, omitting that they ended up fighting. He wanted to tell her good and beautiful things, although in Poplar, and in his life, those things were scarce. She deserved good things, and she was sick, he didn't want to worry her.

Work, as always, was his lifesaver. He found himself attending to more patients than he should, filling his head with diagnoses, treatments, condolences. He kept counting the days and the letters. He calculated that by now, the treatment was working and she would be strong enough to take a pen and a sheet of paper. In fact, she was. His ear seemed to have perfected to the point that he could hear her name anywhere and in any mouth that named it. Therefore, he knew that letters came to Nonnatus, addressed to several people. However, no letter arrived at his house.

She was definitely offended with him. Or what was worse, she didn't care about him.

Trixie entered the kitchen with a pile of cloth, complaining as she used to. He realized that he had been there for at least half an hour, holding a cup of tea now iced, and a cookie without eating. Sometimes eating cost him a lot, there were days when his body only accepted the smoke of the cigarette.

While Trixie spoke, he counted what was happening to him: he could not eat, could not concentrate, could not sleep. Was this what they called being sick of love? He hoped to heal soon before he died, and at the same time, he hoped never heal.

Her name appeared in Trixie's complaints and he looked up at her. It was his opportunity to ask, to have even a minimum amount of information about her.

Indeed, she wrote, and told news and novelties. He felt envious that Trixie could visit her, she didn't care as much as he did, however, she went, she wrote and had answers from Sister Bernadette...

He sent his regards. He was sure that Trixie would not forget that, but he wondered if Sister Bernadette would care.

The rumble of the cup in the sink took him out of the turbulence of jealousy and envy in which he fell. He left, fleeing from the nurse's sharp gaze.

"Are you sad, dad?"

Sometimes he wondered how Tim tolerated him. It would not be easy for a child to have a father like him. But his son had a noble soul.

When he answered, he answered sincerely. He couldn't be sad having a wonderful son like Tim, the greatest gift he received in life. But he couldn't help feeling bad. The days passed slowly and slowly, and his head was filled with questions without answers. He even prayed sometimes: for her improvement, for a letter with his name.

She hated him. She didn't want to answer him, or maybe she didn't even want to read the nonsense he sent her.

And if she didn't hate him, she saw him as a colleague and nothing else, nobody important to share correspondence.

He thought again and again in her frightened eyes, in her eyes asking for help when he left her in the sanitarium. She seemed so close to him in that moment, and now she kept this terrible distance.

He didn't blame her. His behavior was not the best and she would feel fear, or apprehension towards him. He understood her, he really did, but...nothing? Not even a note asking him to stop bothering her?

He felt lost, not knowing how to proceed. Things were so easy with Marianne, they just met, fell in love, and got married. There was never a difficulty, or prohibitions, beliefs, or other people among them.

Now everything was as different and as strange as what he felt for Sister Bernadette.

Of course he was sad. But he couldn't convey that to his son.

While they ate fried bread in the little bar they frequented, Tim seemed to observed him carefully. He had probably inherited that from his father. Patrick decided to distract him.

"What happened to your butterfly, son?"

Tim looked away, nibbled the food.

"I sent it with Trixie to...Sister Bernadette."

"Oh, very good."

"Aren't you going to get mad at me?"

"Why I should do that? It seems good to me that you look for answers."

Tim looked at him suspiciously, but continued.

"Before, I looked in the school library until I found the exact name of the butterfly. I thought it was good to send all the data I had, that will facilitate the diagnosis."

"Very well, I congratulate you." He smiled, and Tim seemed to leave his suspicion.

"I wrote a note to Sister Bernadette explaining everything. She likes insects and animals, and since she now lives there, it seemed like a good idea to send the butterfly with her doctors."

"Surely they will know how to give you an answer. You're done with your food? Come on, you should take a bath."

Tim complained, though he didn't mean it. Stroking his son's hair, they left the bar.

While Timothy was taking a bath, he took another sheet of paper and a pen. He didn't know why he kept writing, he supposed this as the only connection he had with her, it didn't matter if she threw them in the trash as soon as she received them. Telling her about his things was a bit like telling himself.

Taking a breath and drawing a smile, he began.

"_Dear Sister Bernadette: _

_Today with Tim we went to eat fried bread… "_


	11. Chapter 11

XI.

Against all odds, he had good days. Days when he thought about her, because he did it all the time, and although her absence hurt a lot, he could see that good things were happening around him. Like the pregnancy of Fred's daughter and the joy of the man with his grandson, or Tim excited when he knew that his father would attend one of the classes with the Cubs.

However, while he could put on a cheerful face for others, he knew that inside his soul, everything was wrong.

Tim checked the mail, he always did it because he was curious and wanted to know who were the ones who communicated with his father. There were no distant cousins or uncles, therefore, when his son exclaimed that there was a letter with his name, he thought the boy was joking. But it wasn't like that, there was a letter for Tim. There was a sign of life.

She didn't choose him, she chose his son, and while Tim read and admired the watercolor, he felt anxious to know more. It wasn't the right thing, but he wanted to rip the envelope from Tim's hands and read it himself, see if there was a minimum hint. His son read quickly, it was not a long letter, so he immediately removed his doubts.

_"His kind letters."_ That's what she called them. Did that mean she read them? Did she say it out of pure courtesy? Did she read all the letters?

He dared not think about the last ones he sent. They were written with the heart in the hand, and as he wrote them he sent them, without stopping to read once more and regret what he did.

His son looked at him curiously. Tim needed to know what "in due course" meant and if he was honest with himself, he also needed to know the same.

Why did she respond that way, as if it were in code? Why didn't she speak clearly? He rebuked himself for his selfishness, she had limitations, there were things she could not say or feel.

Overwhelmed by what was running in his mind, he decided to fire Tim, sending him to school. He was still a bad father, at least he should say goodbye to the boy, kiss him and wish him a good day, but he needed to be alone, trying to tidy up the maelstrom he felt in the head and in the heart.

She answered. Even, she painted a small drawing. One more thing he didn't know about her, one more piece of his favorite puzzle. He tried to imagine her painting, frowning in concentration, like when she was working on a difficult birth. Then he tried to imagine her reading the letters, but decided to avoid that image at all costs.

But it was so hard not to do it, because he lived thinking about her, thinking about how beautiful she always looked, whether she was angry, worried, sad, or jumping with joy. She was always beautiful and sweet, and for a second he had the luxury of imagining what her hair would be like, what her name would be like, how she would be herself, without limits and without restrictions. Every part he imagined, he fell in love more.

He knew it was wrong, that it was always wrong, but it was useless to try to avoid it. He did not know for which divine punishment he loved her, and at the same time, he could not consider it a punishment. Loving her was a gift, noticing every part of her and her character was a privilege. It didn't matter if his silly dreams of a life with her were never fulfilled. He had to focus on her being well, she was alive, she was healing. Why ask for more?

He thought about how things would be when she returned to Poplar. She would be healed and strong, but in no way would he let her work. He would make sure to take care of her, even if she returned like a nun. And if it wasn't, he would too. Even if she ignored him, even if she came back with a man, he would always take care of her. From afar, and in silence, without expecting anything in return, only the happiness of seeing her healthy.

"Promise me you'll be on time."

He looked at Tim and smiled. The boy was excited, he had even told all his friends that his father would go to class and not to talk about burns, sprains and medical things. Many parents had gone to demonstrate their skills as carpenters, welders, and other "extraordinary" things according to his son, so he would help him to be no less than the other children.

"I have all my schedules strictly organized so that nothing interrupts my frog class."

Tim smiled satisfied as he settled again the painting that Sister Bernadette sent him.

The truth was that he wanted to throw it in the trash. Seeing it on the counter, or in the window, or on the piano, or in any of the places that his son considered best for "Sister Bernadette's work of art" was like a stab of reality, it was a reminder that she was there and at the same time, she was not.

But, he knew that he wouldn't throw away the paint even if he was pointed with a gun. It was a piece of her, something she did with dedication, something her fingers touched. It was a small hope, an indication that she, for a moment, had remembered him.

Timothy ate hurriedly and after reminding his father again about his obligation in the afternoon, he went out to meet the Cubs. Patrick had to make some visits to the patients and then, proud of himself, he arrived perfectly in time to see the flock of children with Chummy and Fred. Tim son shone when he saw his father and Patrick felt, finally, someone valuable to the child.

He knew that the other children looked at him strangely. He was not someone who sat on the floor, roll up the sleeves and started folding green papers. He was always a bad news, because with him he carried disgusting medications, injections, and strange words. Sometimes, too, he carried little siblings.

But this time he was not a doctor, but a father. It felt good, a little oasis in the desert where he lived.

For the umpteenth time, he remembered her. She stepped on these tiles, it would not be strange that in a meeting of the Cubs she was helping. What would she say if she saw him, teaching how to fold papers and turn them into frogs? She would surely laugh, with that laugh of little bells.

Chummy approached, visibly worried. In fact, she had been since Dolly entered the parish hall. In effect, she didn't have good news. His medical side must have emerged, although he did not want to. He was busy being happy with and for his son, and suddenly the doctor had to return, and the class was suspended. All the children went home with their family, except Tim, because he didn't have one. Like so many times, Patrick had to leave his son for more important reasons.

He taught him to be independent, but at the same time, he was a child, he could not always manage alone. He imagined all the claims Tim would make him as soon as he saw him again.

Why always, when he had a littleflash of sun, his road turn misty again?


	12. Chapter 12

XII.

He was used to the phone ringing. In fact, the device did it constantly, it was as if always, no matter the day, time or place, the device would look for him and find him. Sometimes he didn't care, sometimes it bothered him a lot. But the sound of the phone came almost with his doctor's name, and it was the signal that someone, somewhere in Poplar, needed him.

But this time, that someone was not in Poplar.

There was no greeting. It was as if she knew he could recognize her voice among thousands of voices. That's why she didn't need a greeting, just a simple statement. He heard, unable to fully understand what was happening. She, so many months away, without giving him more than a few words in a letter to his son, was now talking to him on the phone, telling him that she would return.

He wanted to be selfish for a moment so he believed with all his might that she chose him, that she had not yet spoken with Nonnatus, that her first communication with the outside world, beyond letters, was by phone, and with him.

He listened carefully, as he sat on the edge of his desk and played with the telephone cord, completely bewitched by her voice. Many times he heard her on the phone, but she always had the urgent tone of a nurse calling the doctor. This time, her voice was warm and shy, he could hear her breathing so close to his ear, her breathing a little laborious though he could not detect whether it was due to recovery from illness or nervousness. Anyway, it was hard for him to listen to her beyond the sound of his own heart in his ears. This surprise made it beat like a free and wild horse, made him sweat his hands and feel as if he could jump off his skin.

She said something about living a wrong life but in the right place, and suddenly all the chips began to fall into his mind and he was encouraged to mention his shameful attitude: his letters written with such determination and insistence. He never knew if he said too little or too much, and it seemed good to be honest and ask her.

He did not expect her ragged response in which he guessed a small smile. She read them, and she wasn't insulting him for what she read.

She considered having read what was necessary. The necessary? For what? The chips kept falling on his head, these continued to reveal a little more of the enigma he had been living in for months.

She had a decision. She wasn't telling him directly, but she was decided, and she was with him.

Then his medical side emerged, perhaps too sharply when she mentioned returning to Poplar by bus. He always considered her capable and intelligent, and strong enough to take care of herself, but unfortunately, she was also stubborn and was showing it to him. No one newly recovered and in the right mind should travel by public transport, surrounded by people with whom they know how many bacteria in their bodies. But she seemed determined to do so and his fear and care came to light in a way that he hated instantly when he opened his mouth.

To his luck and agony, she had the final word, the last lunge to leave him completely out of play:

_Forgive me, but I don't answer to that name anymore._

That simple and cryptic answer left him breathless. She wasn't her anymore, she was _another person._

But who was she? He wanted to know it for a long time, and it seemed he had the possibility of solving the mystery only on the other side of the line, but Nurse Noakes' corpulent shadow caught his attention.

Sometimes, he hated his profession very much, and this was one of those times.

Her words before cutting off the communication sounded sad and disappointed and he wanted to tell her that he didn't abandon her because he didn't want to listen to her or talk to her, but she wasn't there anymore. Like a falling star, she had appeared for a moment and just as quickly, had disappeared. He stared at the phone, wishing she understood, that in the distance she could feel how his heart was still pounding and rampant, how his ears remained delighted by her voice, how he was desperate to see and tell her, this time face to face, all the love he wanted to give her.

He was always proud of the attention he gave to the patients, how different he was from the rest of most doctors who only looked quickly, made a diagnosis, and left.

However, this time he was like those doctors. The things with Dolly progressed and thanks to heaven Chummy was there, and they both had a friendship that would help the young mother. Therefore, he was not necessary and that was the best thing that could happen to him.

Something told him that Sister Bernadette, (every moment he thought of her, he corrected himself, she no longer had that name, but what was her name? Many times he tried to imagine it, but all the names that came to mind seemed look bad in her) would commit the sanitary madness of taking a bus.

Just thinking about it, it made his skin bristle, he couldn't even imagine that she got sick again, not with how fragile she would surely be. He promised that he would always take care of her, and this was the first thing he should do, to prevent her from traveling alone with such an unstable day in a transport full of strangers.

He left the maternity home as fast as he could, his head focused on the road he had to take to get to the sanatorium. He did not realize that his own son was in the car, looking proud to be a surprise. He was always glad to see Timothy, but at that moment, he wished the boy were at school or anywhere else.

But Tim seemed determined, and if he thought about it...it wouldn't be bad if they went looking for her together. If things were like his mind, still moved, said they were, it would be better if Timothy was there. He was his family, it was a part of him. He must know what was about to happen, or at least he should know that his father was stupidly in love. It wasn't something a child wanted to know, especially when his mother was dead, but Tim was his son and he had the right. Also, if everything was very uncomfortable, Timothy could save the situation with his naughty questions and occurrences.

He concentrated on the increasingly foggy road, and on answering the long list of questions Tim had. It filled him with happiness that the boy was happy to see her, and that he was delighted by the makeshift trip to the countryside.

"Dad, do you like her?"

He felt that he was choking at the sudden question, but Tim looked serious. He needed an answer, and Patrick wasn't sure he could give it.

"Since when do you talk about liking someone?"

The boy shrugged.

"I don't, but I heard it at school. There are a couple of girls who like Jack, but he likes Tom's sister, which is disgusting because she is two years older than us. Two years! That is so much!"

He pressed the fingers on the steering wheel. He was much older than her. He didn't know how much, but he didn't need to do accounts. The little hope that had been born in his heart began to fade. It was unheard of for her to notice him, and besides, he didn't even know if she had really left the convent or not.

"Dad?"

He looked sideways at Tim. He must tell him, though the chances of the love being reciprocal were void.

"Yes, I like her."

He looked back at the road, looking for any sign of her, trying not to think about what he had just said. Tim said nothing, just looked out the window and then stuck his head out. He had not mood to reprimand him.

He imagined thousands of different scenarios. He thought that he would not find her, that he would, but she would not accept to travel with him, or that she would accept but the trip would be uncomfortable. He thought he would find her without her habit and see her in normal clothes, and finally discover what color her hair was. He also thought that he would see her as usual, with her nun's clothes and her head covered.

Timothy shouted and he slowed. Someone was walking along the road, although due to the fog he could not distinguish much. It was a woman, dressed with almost the same fog that surrounded her, carrying two suitcases. She turned, and he saw her.

She was so different, but her look was the same as always. Her eyes, those two lanterns of life that she had for eyes, looked directly at him, and he knew that the person he loved was there, although he did not even know how to call her, how to speak to her, how to approach her.

She was like an angel, standing there in the middle of the road, looking at him and again, asking for help like so many other times. And he, as an automaton, got out of the car and for a second stared at her, assessing if this was another of his dreams, or reality, thinking if that ray of light in the fog was lighting him or it was just his imagination.

Then he went to her like a star attracted by the sun and suddenly everything was more than clear. His little mystery, the person he was observing first by curiosity and then to discover a little more about her, was there, waiting for him.

He didn't know what to look at or what to do first. She was so small, she seemed so fragile and about to cry, and so beautiful, and he wanted to hug her so that nothing and no one would push her away again, but his reason stopped him. That would have been imprudent, this time his medical side came to save him, and he immediately thought about her health. She was dressed in something very light, and the day was getting worse, and she had walked a lot carrying too much weight. None of it was good for her, and he panicked.

He raised his hand in fear, he still didn't know if he could touch her, but he needed to know. He rested his hand on her forehead, looking for fever, and maybe there was but he couldn't register it because her skin was so soft, and her eyes closed and her face was full of relief, as if for a long time she had waited this little contact.

His questions were whispered, he didn't want to scold or scare her, he just felt terribly worried that things had gone wrong, that he had lost her again.

She looked him straight in the eye. They were a sea where he would gladly drown. For the first time he saw happiness there. Her face was something else, it was tinged with shame. She seemed more adorable to him than ever. He knew that he could have waited longer and all his life, if the reward would be this: she, so close, she, not being a nun, she, looking at him that way.

He suddenly remembered his coat. It was the first thing he had to do, give her the coat and get her out of this damp and damaging place, so he took it off and wrapped her with it, and he could feel his own scent floating around.

He still couldn't hug her, but he would do it this way, giving her his coat, his warmth, his protection. She looked even smaller when he adjusted the neck to cover her as much as possible. She kept looking into his eyes, an open look, where he could see many things, so many that he was scared to think of everything was still a dream. He was afraid to wake up in his bed, or on the kitchen table or on the sofa, surrounded by cigarettes and loneliness.

But she spoke, and again saved him from his misfortune.

She knew him so little, and he did too. Despite all the observations, he still knew her so little…

Her barely whispered voice showed no concern, but sincerity. He noticed her swallow hard, he supposed that to say that was a great effort for her, as much as it was for him to pronounce the things he had been in his chest for a long time.

But she, despite everything and against all odds, was certain. Despite all his doubts, his mistakes, his miseries, she was certain of him. This celestial creature, small, blond, but strong and determined, who led a life so different and at the same time so similar to his, was sure to love him. And with her gaze, she begged him to be certain too.

Of course he told it to her, and she blessed him with a smile of relief and happiness.

He wanted to tell how much he loved her, wanted to scream and dance on the road, but she still looked at him, shy and at the same time convinced, and he could see in her smile that she wanted to say more.

So he helped her, asking what he so longed to know.

Her name was Shelagh. He never thought of that name, and it fit her so well.

_Shelagh_, a sweet and bright little whisper.

His own name sounded coarse and boring next to hers, like all of himself, but she was happy, he could see it in that smile he had loved for a long time, that frank smile, full of light, that smile that promised a life.

He wanted to kiss her, seal this incredible and perfect moment, but he was afraid to scare or bother her, or that she thought she was wrong by choosing an impulsive man who kissed her without permission in the middle of the road.

He had faith that years would come with her and he could kiss her in the future as many times as he wanted. Just a little more waiting.

"You must be very cold, we better get into the car. Ah, there is Tim."

Her face brightened more at the mention of the boy's name and she began to walk ahead of him, waving a hand to his son. Tim got out of the car and hugged her waist, asking dozens of questions almost without breathing.

Patrick smiled in relief, his son agreed with this.

Very gently he rested a hand on her waist and she turned just to look at him, again with a smile.

As they returned to Poplar, he felt aching his face for smiling so much, something he had not done for a long time. He could feel her scent and heat next to him, and hear her voice and laughter, and know that she looked at him from time to time, shy but unrestricted.

He knew that now there were many things to do: paperwork, explanations, conversations...But he left them behind in his mind, concentrating on this trip, concentrating on observing her once more, concentrating on being surrounded by _his Shelagh_.


	13. Chapter 13

This is longer than the others, because I had to invent a lot (not that I'm complaining, these two always inspire me a lot and I love writing scenes that I have in my head with them) since we don't know anything about what happened between The path of fog and commitment. So it is created to fill that important void.

As always, sorry for my English.

XIII.

His fears before finding her on the road gradually vanished when he noticed that she was serious. She was sure, she had jumped with both feet and he had been there to hold her.

She left Nonnatus House, visibly distressed. It was a change to see her like this after her bright smiles on the way to Poplar, but he hurried to open the car door and extend his hand, assuring her with that gesture that her decision had not been in vain.

That same night they had dinner together, and although Shelagh (he loved to call her that in his mind, he loved to know her real name), was willing and happy to answer Timothy's questions, he knew, after so much time observing each one of her gestures, that she was not as happy internally as she intended to demonstrate. Her laughter was nervous and spoke hurriedly, with her thicker Scottish accent. Her eyes went from side to side, startled. Patrick was afraid that with every minute that passed, she was regretting it more. Maybe his son was very annoying to her, and he wasn't handsome for her, and his house was very small, and she was realizing all that and wanted to run away.

He took Tim to sleep, he did it faster than any other day, fearing that when he returned to the living room, she was no longer there.

However, when he returned with his hands sweating and his heart beating with fear, he found her sitting on the couch. She was still nervous and her posture was rigid with the hands clenched, but at least, she was there. He sat beside her, unsure of what to do or say, fearing that in the face of any minimal movement, she would disappear. He took two breaths, thinking what to say.

"I'm sorry." She said, surprising him. "I don't know what to do, I..."

His breathing stopped, feeling that everything he began to dream was fading. She would leave, forever.

"I was so happy to see you, also to see Tim, and then in Nonnatus everything was so... strange. I knew it would be like that, but…it was very sad."

She spoke looking at the floor, her voice barely audible. Maybe she wasn't behaving like that for him, but because she had just finished her old life. How to comfort her? How to make her see that he would be by her side to accompany her? It broke his heart not knowing what to do without scaring her or pushing her limits. He barely extended his hand on the sofa, and with his little finger, he touched her little finger. She raised her head to look at him, her eyes were full of tears, but she took his hand and squeezed it tightly. It was small and soft but not fragile. It was the first time she touched him, and he felt he was burning with anxiety for more. He approached her sliding on the sofa and dared to wrap her with one arm. She tensed, but far from running away, she rested her head on his shoulder, letting out a sigh and slowly relaxing.

Thus they had their first real and intimate talk. She told about her fears, about the disappointment she knew she was causing in her sisters, how much she loved them. He knew that this was a terrible path for her, and he promised himself that he would spend his entire life showing her that she had made the right choice.

"You must go now, isn't it?" He asked looking at the clock.

He didn't want her to go to her new house, an unknown house with an unknown owner. He wanted her to stay next to him, he wanted to feel her warmth and weight on his shoulder, and the scent of her beautiful hair that he was dying to touch. He heard her nod but did not turn away; on the contrary, he felt her head rest more firmly on his shoulder. He swallowed, in such a long time to observe and dream her, an image like that crossed his mind many times, but he always completed it with a kiss, a hug, sleeping next to her. He was a man after all, and he always tried to respect her, but his dreams betrayed him many times. Now he had hernext to him, his body told him it was time, but things were no longer about him, they were about her, and he knew that Shelagh was here because of her confidence and because she loved him. He did not plan to spoil all that due to an impulse.

When he returned after leaving her at the lodge, Tim was waiting for him sitting on the stairs.

"What are you doing here? I left you sleeping."

"That's what I made you believe." The boy smiled. "Dad, are you going to marry her?"

He sighed, hanging his coat. He walked to Tim and sat on the same step as him.

"What do you want?"

"You always say that it is impolite to answer a question with another question."

Patrick sighed again, scratched the back of his neck. If it were for him, he would already be married to Shelagh. But his decisions did not depend exclusively on him, but also on Tim. He could not give him a stepmother he did not want and with whom he should live for years in the same house. He wished Tim wanted Shelagh and agreed, but if that wasn't so...he would probably go crazy.

"I would like to marry her, yes. What do you think?"

The boy shrugged.

"Why are you asking me? I will not marry, it is you who wants to do it."

He couldn't detect if there was sarcasm or anger in Tim's voice.

"I ask you because you are my son. And because I know you still miss mom."

Timothy lowered his head, moved the tips of his slippers.

"Do you love her like mom?" Tim asked looking directly at him.

"No, it's... different. You may not understand it now, but in life you can love many times. Shelagh is different from mom and my love for her is different."

"But you want to marry her. I mean, you love her enough to marry her, don't you?"

"Yes, exactly. I love her so much." He cleared his throat. Once he wished had a close friend to have drinks and say what he had just said. He didn't imagine that he would end up telling his son.

"I like her, she's great and cool. I think she will be excellent here at home. Because...I miss mom but I know she can't come back. And Shelagh can be my mom. If she wants, of course. What if she wants to marry you but not be my mother?"

Tim's eyes were scared. Patrick smiled and stroked her hair.

"I think Shelagh loves you more than me, so you shouldn't worry about that. So...do you want a wedding? There will be cake."

"Yes! When it will be? Tomorrow?"

"Don't hurry." He laughed.

"Why?"

He didn't know how to explain that things were not as easy as he saw them with his eyes of child. Shelagh was hurt, nervous, scared, and probably confused because she also felt happiness. Proposing marriage so quickly could scare her even more, and at the same time, if he didn't do it soon...that could also scare her. He clenched the fingers, feeling lost. When he believed that everything was being sorted, things were still chaos.

Fortunately, Tim seemed to understand that his father didn't have most of the answers he wanted for his questions, so he left him alone wishing him good night. Patrick lay in his bed, though he knew he wouldn't sleep all night. Sleeping was nothing compared to thinking about her, with her blond hair, her bright gaze, her perfect smile, leaning on his shoulder and sitting at home. He turned and looked at the unoccupied side of the bed, knowing that soon, that same woman he loved so much, would be there beside him.

Only if she said yes.

He had forgotten what it was like to feel happy. His days were gray and black, there was no light or joy, but suddenly everything had become clear and fresh, as if someone had lit a lighthouse and he managed to reach the shore.

Of course, his lighthouse was Shelagh.

Every time he saw her, he felt terribly nervous, as if he were a teenager and not a mature man. She was so beautiful, and so shy, and sometimes she let go of a phrase or a mischievous smile that baffled him completely.

By all means, he tried to make no one notice his change, but it was impossible to pay attention to the patients' words and not go around smiling. She occupied every part of his head and heart, that beautiful creature both outside and inside was also excited to see him, and he couldn't believe he was living in real life and not in one of his silly dreams that tormented him during months.

Just with thinking in Shelagh, he was speechless, and having her in front of him only made his mouth babble, and she laughed even though she tried to hide it. He felt besotted by her, and he couldn't be happier with that.

Three days after finding her in the fog, he decided to take the next step. His life as a doctor interrupted every moment, but he had to take time to be with her, to do everything he ever dreamed they would share. He wanted to spend the mornings or afternoons with her. Their courtship, or whatever they were having, couldn't just limit to dinner and talk about science projects with his son.

"Shelagh, I was wondering..."

"Yes?"

And again. He wished Tim wasn't sleeping, so he could save the situation with a question or comment and he wouldn't be, again, like a fool in front of her. He swallowed, unable to tell her anything. She frowned. She was even more beautiful, which didn't help him at all.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, yes, sorry. I... just wanted to invite you to the pictures. Tomorrow. What do you say?"

"But, Tim..."

"Tim can stay with Jack or another friend. Would you like to go to the cinema? If you prefer, we can go somewhere else."

"Well, I haven't been in years...I don't know what movie I could watch, but yes. I would very much like to go to the pictures with you."

He smiled in relief, and she did too.

"Perfect, I'll pick you up at 6."

"No, no." Suddenly, her voice became nervous. "Please don't go to my lodge, I don't want them to speak."

The urgency to propose marriage became fierce. He was about to ask her right there, even though he didn't have a ring. With a proposal, Shelagh should no longer be thinking about people and what they would say about her.

"All right, I'll wait for you on a couple of streets."

"It's better that way." Her smile was relieved and it squeezed his heart. Shelagh, more than anyone, shouldn't worry about people and their gossip. She had an impeccable reputation, which perhaps he was ruining. She should be focused on her health, on being well, not on these things.

"Patrick, are you feeling well?"

He felt that she was taking one of his hands and looked into her eyes.

"I'm fine." He assured. She smiled just looking at their joined hands. He opened his fingers, turned her hand and looked at her palm. He saw a line, the wound, now scar, where he had put his lips before. Under her little finger, a small surprise he didn't have time to appreciate before: a mole, small like a freckle. He stroked it slowly, with the fingers of his other hand. He wondered if he could kiss it. Would she walk away again?

He looked at her face, seemed to hold her breath as she watched him appreciate the palm of her hand. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed the scar. She didn't move away, heard her let out a shaky breath. He barely parted, then put his lips on the small mole.

He pulled away, locked her hand in his, clenching her fingers. He looked at her, she continued with her eyes fixed on their hands, her lips tight and her breath short.

He needed to kiss her. Her tender smile was a constant invitation, and her pink lips were always perfect for him, but now that he was so close and could see them better, he knew he had to taste them as soon as possible. He took a slow breath, but Shelagh slipped her hand and stood up.

"It's time." She said pointing at the clock. Indeed, they would be late. He saw the anxiety on her face.

"I'll take you quickly, don't worry."

She nodded without saying anything and looked for her coat, with which she dressed without waiting for him to help her. On the way they said nothing, she looked more and more nervous.

"I don't want to be asked for explanations, the owner is a bit gossipy, I don't want them to see you."

He saw her play with her fingers, looking anxiously through the window. He wanted to avoid her all this, that she shouldn't leave at this time, that her house was his. He reached out to take hers, but they had already arrived and she barely said goodbye before disappearing behind the door.

He parked the car in the exact place. He didn't know if she would arrive, maybe the lodge owner said something to her last night and now she felt ashamed. He patted his pockets nervously, smiling a little as he felt the two tickets he had bought in the morning and the small box. Everything was bought away, in the West End, to avoid comments about the doctor buying two tickets for a romantic movie, and an engagement ring.

He saw her approaching quickly in the rearview mirror. She looked everywhere, dressed with a gray coat and green hat. She had high heels, which made her legs…He looked somewhere else, uncomfortable. Her legs were something new to observe but not at this time.

Her quick steps did not give him time to go down and open the door. Before he realized, Shelagh was sitting next to him, coughing a little.

"Are you feeling good?"

"Yes, I just ran a little, I thought I was being late. Hello." She said looking into his eyes with a lovely smile.

"Hello." He answered in the same way, which made her laugh nervously. In the few days they had been together, he knew that the nervous Shelagh was his favorite.

He rejected any kind of thinking about an approach during the movie. Others would use it to kiss and hug, but Patrick was aware that none of that would happen. Shelagh was new to all this, and he didn't want to push her, he wanted her to feel more and more comfortable with him. Having her sitting next to him was more than he ever imagined would be possible, so he didn't want to be greedy.

He prepared to watch the movie. It did not seem very interesting, if he was sincere, he preferred those of cowboys, not those of heroines and handsome guys who sang songs, but he imagined that Shelagh would not appreciate a film full of bullets as her first date with him. She liked music, so a movie of this style would surely please her a lot and, if he had luck, maybe he could later hear her sing one of the songs.

He was startled when she took his forearm with both hands and put her head close to his shoulder, coughing barely.

"Are you feeling all right?"

She just nodded.

"No, you are not."

"How do you know that?" She said with a small chuckle.

"Because I know when you lie."

"I never lie."

Her sleepy eyes were now open with mischief. He swallowed hard, he had her close, hugging him and looking at him this way.

"We...we can leave now."

"No, the movie is very pretty." She sighed, but then coughed again.

He knew that Shelagh was recovering, how could he consider a good idea to bring her to this closed place full of people who were perhaps ill or in the process of being so? They should leave as soon as possible, he should take her to a place with fresh air.

He moved his body, ready to go, but when he looked at her, he froze: on his shoulder, Shelagh slept. She still kept her hands tangled in his arm, her head perfectly resting on his shoulder and her lips barely apart. The changing lights on the screen reflected on her face, making her look ethereal. Leaning back in his seat, he put his free hand over hers, and kissed her hair.

"Sleep my love, you need to rest."

He watched the movie without seeing it, the heat of Shelagh surrounding him and the scent of her hair made everything pale in comparison. Every time he took the eyes off the screen and looked at her, he felt he was running out of air. She slept peacefully, sighing occasionally. He prayed to God for patience and self-control, her lips kept calling him.

Long before the movie ended, she woke up.

"Hello, Sleeping Beauty."

Startled, she looked everywhere, releasing her grip on his arm. Her face became so scarlet that he could see it even in the dark room.

"Oh! Oh, God! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

"Shh, they'll kick you out if you keep talking." He laughed.

She got even redder.

"Shelagh you are recovering and you need to rest." He whispered. "I think the mistake was mine, I shouldn't have brought you here, surely there are too many germs and you were coughing..."

"You didn't make any mistake." She took his hand again, looking at him firmly. "It was very nice that you invited me. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Come on, let's go."

"Don't you want to see the movie?"

"Actually, I wasn't paying attention." He looked at her eyes. Some strands had escaped her hairstyle, and approaching, he took one and placed it behind her ear. She lowered her eyes, ashamed.

Leaving the cinema, Patrick bought some candies and handed them to her, she took them delighted.

"I don't know if you like these…"

"I love them!" She looked like a little girl. She hadn't shaken the sleep yet and she still had flushed cheeks. While she was bringing a sweet to her mouth, she hummed one of the songs from the movie, which seemed strange because it had been sung while she slept. He turned to look at her, surely she hadn't simulated everything...

He looked at his watch.

"It's cold, I guess you want to go back to sleep well."

She nodded barely, as she searched in the candy box. She seemed disappointed.

"Or maybe we can stay in the car and chat, it's still early."

"That seems better to me." She smiled.

The car was parked not far from the cinema, in a quiet place despite the surrounding traffic. Shelagh sat down, devouring her candies with charm. He couldn't stop looking at her, she looked sweet, happy and relaxed, looking at people in the street. She still apologized for falling asleep and regretted not having seen a movie that looked so good.

"We can come back again."

"Well, that would be very nice." She smiled and handed him her chocolate peanut box. He took one and ate it.

He patted his pocket again. He wanted to ask her. They were in a quiet place, she seemed happy, he had the ring...His plan was another, so he sighed, disappointed and anxious.

She coughed again.

"Shelagh, are you feeling well? I think it's very cold, I shouldn't have brought you here, I'm sorry."

"Patrick, I'm fine." She stopped looking at people. Now he looked directly at him with her bright eyes. "Thank you for this. And for...everything."

She approached and planted a kiss on his cheek. It was a quick kiss, barely consistent enough to realize that happened. But yes, it had happened, he felt the pressure of her lips on his cheek, the little snap, the minimum humidity, and all her scent close, very close.

Stunned, he looked at her. Her cheeks were scarlet, and she nervously looked for some peanuts that had remained in the box. When she found one and brought it to her mouth, her hand was shaking. Patrick smiled, stepping out of the trance he was in, moved closer to her, resting his arm on the back of her seat. He gently took the trembling hand and approached her ear.

"Shelagh, can I kiss you?"

He felt the grip on his hand twitch. Then, like a flower, a little smile bloomed. She looked at him sideways, they were very close, he could feel her breath on his face.

"I no longer knew what to do for you to ask me." She whispered mischievously, biting her lower lip. Shame poked in her eyes and lowered them.

He laughed, released her hand and took her face with both hands, raising her so he could see her eyes. She swallowed, still embarrassed and not looking directly at him.

"I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. I was afraid you were going away."

She swallowed again, and looked at him gathering a firm voice.

"I will not go away."

He stroked her face with his thumbs. It was so soft, he saw her close her eyes, anticipating. He put his lips on hers. They tasted like chocolate, candies, and something else that he knew was Shelagh, just her. It was a short and chaste kiss, he separated immediately, resting his forehead on hers. Shelagh smiled, biting her lip again.

"Can I give you another one?" He asked, half laughing.

"Yes, please!"

Laughing he kissed her again, longer and firmer, stroking her face and hair. She had the hands firmly on his chest, but he felt them move to his face, bringing him closer to her mouth. They separated when they heard the noise of the candies falling to the floor. They had moved closer while they kissed and she laughed barely at the sight of the disaster, but turned to caress his face. Trying to restrain himself from kissing her again, he saw her studying him carefully, letting her caress his cheeks and run a hand through the hair that fell over his eyes. He turned his head a little to kiss one of her hands and she smiled.

"Tomorrow would you go to the parish hall?" He whispered. "In the afternoon, after the clinic."

Everything about her tensed, quickly separated, like a terrified little animal. Patrick felt his heart tear when he saw her like this, and he hoped that the situation would change as soon as possible, he couldn't bear to see her sad in this way.

"There will be no one. I need to see you and that will be the only time I can."

She nodded, looking at the floor.

"I need to see you too." She said barely and he smiled. She was still with red cheeks, looking adorable. He took her face again and slowly kissed each of her cheeks, then kissed the tip of her nose. Approaching her mouth, he kissed the corner and felt her breath short before finally kissing her completely. He wrapped her in his arms, he could cover her with them as he imagined.

When he parted, he noticed that more hair had fallen from her hairstyle. He wrapped one of the strands in his fingers, it was soft and shone with the light coming from the street.

"You are so beautiful. I love you so much, Shelagh." He whispered. He never thought it would be possible to say that out loud and with her in front of him after kissing her, but here they were, in his car after a real date, together and happy.

Swallowing, she smiled, again, still staring at the floor. When she raised her head, he felt her eyes burn.

"And I love you too, Patrick. I love you very much."

"What do you think?"

Timothy gasped at the small open box.

"It is a jewel!"

"Of course it is, Tim. It is an engagement ring."

"Can I count how many edges the diamond has?"

"Definitely not. I will not let you handle it. So? What will you do?"

"I can go with all the Cubs and sing a song for her."

"No, no, nobody should know about this and less the Cubs. Think of something else."

Timothy rested his head on the hands, staring at the ring that shone on the table. Patrick could see his little mind working. Finally he raised a finger.

"I have it! And I'm sure she will say yes!"

He felt completely nervous, he could hear the blood in his ears. He treated the patients as he could, and then also as he could, he arranged his clothes and hair a little. He wanted to look good, he could not risk her not accepting. For the umpteenth time he looked in his pocket, where the box, carefully wrapped by Tim, rested completely oblivious to the impression it should cause.

Finally everyone left, and he was alone, counting the minutes.

It wasn't a good place, he didn't even know why he chose the kitchen in the parish hall, maybe his unconscious told him because there, in a sense, it all started. But it was not the best of places. Most of the guys chose expensive restaurants, some bridge over the river, or a family party. Never the kitchen in a parish hall.

He walked around in the small space, the nerves seemed to grow to the point of entangling him and devouring him like a snake. There was no time to change places, he had already made the mistake.

He took his chin, then ran the hands over the face. What if she said no? What if she told him that everything was very fast? What if she rejected him because she wanted to go back to her old life?

He heard the door open and close, the noise of heels on the tiles, slowly approaching. It was her, he could recognize her way of walking, no matter if she wore heels or her nun's shoes, he knew that was Shelagh.

There was no going back, he had to face this and he had completely forgotten the words he had prepared to say.

The curtain opened and she appeared, brighter than the sun, with her shy smile, whispering his name. She looked even prettier than the day before, and he was afraid: afraid of losing her totally, that her smile and her whisper will no longer be for him. Would he live forever with that fear? If he was lucky and she accepted, surely yes. He would live to deserve that smile, he would do everything possible so that she never regretted choosing him.

She looked at him expectantly. He knew her so well that he could read in her eyes that she already knew. She knew why they were here, why he had dressed a little better and why he was so nervous holding a small package. Anxiety dominated him almost entirely.

He looked at the little box, begging it to have the power to make her accept. He looked at her and opened his mouth, still not remembering what he was going to say, just letting the words flow.

It was a gift from him, and from someone else. Timothy was happy for his contribution and said he was praying for Shelagh to say yes. He hoped not to disappoint him and ruin their illusions.

She took the little box, her wide and anxious smile, looked like the girl who ate the candies with delight last night.

She pulled the blue ribbon gently and he waited, playing with his thumb and his index, trying not to speak and let her discover the surprise. She opened the paper and her smile faded a little. The frown between her eyes reappeared as she alternated her strange look between him and the paper. He did not answer, unable to speak at the magnitude of what was happening. She read Tim's words, certainty and doubt playing in her eyes.

Shelagh opened the box and let out a sigh of surprise and joy. She blessed him with a smile when she raised her eyes to him. His answer was written all over his face and he released the tension and smiled too. She was not rejecting him. The one that until recently he knew only as Sister Bernadette, the woman who initially pricked his curiosity and then much more in it, was agreeing to marry him.

He took the ring and she, containing laughter and tears, put the box and paper on the counter. He waited for her to look at him again, nervous and still surprised, and saw her barely extend her fingers, which he took gently, sliding the ring. It fit perfectly, and it looked beautiful in her hand and matched her smile, brilliant as diamond. Her short breathing and the trembling in her hand gave him the urge to kiss her right there, in the ring.

He kept squeezing her fingers and looking at her, knowing that he could stay a lifetime watching her right now, watching as the sun shone her hair even more, how her eyelashes were wet and danced over her eyes that no longer seemed to ask for help as usual, but they were bright, happy and cheerful. She didn't answer, didn't say a yes or a no, because she didn't need words, because they never needed them.

He pulled her hand adorned with the ring to take her in his arms, and she approached excited, and hugged him, and he heard her breathe inspire his clothes. He wrapped her in his hug, kissing her hair, still unable to believe that she wouldn't leave, that he wouldn't lose her forever.


	14. Chapter 14

XIV

She was like a flower bloomed and wet with rain: fresh, radiant, fragrant, delicate.

He was happy to see her so free around him, as if the ring he gave her had given her permission to be Shelagh, or better, Shelagh with Patrick.

Laughter and smiles now populated his house, and Tim's questions helped Patrick fill the spaces that he still dared not investigate. It was strange, but as Shelagh's confidence grew, his own shyness too. Sometimes he doubted about asking about her, her previous life or her childhood, fearing touching something that should not be touched, and fearing she would move away, or lose her smile. Instead Tim was more brazen, and that was a headache and also a help. His questions came out without filters, and she answered them or first was shocked and then laughed and answered.

They were a family. And little by little the three were discovering each other.

The wonder ended abruptly with something that was cause for celebration, and that made it paradoxical. The baptism of the son of Chummy was a beautiful event that everyone wanted to participate after the anguish that was experienced at his birth. Everyone wanted to go, except Shelagh.

It was Peter who invited him, and extended the invitation to Tim and "Sister...Miss Mannion", said the young policeman. Everyone in Nonnatus and the surrounding area already knew that the former Sister Bernadette never returned from the sanitarium to continue with her life, but to almost permanently move with the doctor. Everyone looked at him perplexed and muttered, but he didn't care. He felt happy.

But he discovered that his happiness was selfish.

Shelagh whispered "I will not go" when he announced the invitation as soon as he entered the house. Patrick rebuked himself for observing everything about her, except this. He was happy, she looked happy, but she wasn't really happy.

Tim took him out of his painful thoughts.

"Why will you not go? There will be a party! Why don't you want to go to a party? They will also baptize Fred's granddaughter. There will be two cakes!" Tim looked at her without understanding.

Patrick knew that for the child, the events in churches bored him, but if there was the promise of a party and food after the services, he joined without hesitation. He also knew that Tim was very surprised that Shelagh said no to a visit to the church. As a child, his life was still in two colors, white or black. But Patrick was an adult and had lived a lot, and he could see the full gray scale that Shelagh was facing.

"Please, Shelagh, come with us."

"Tim," Patrick said firmly, "If she said no, it's no. We will go there you and me."

Tim looked disappointed. In the short time that Shelagh was in their lives, Tim had made her his favorite person. Patrick was happy with that, he feared that the boy would not accept her, but from the first minute he wanted to go with her everywhere, or that she was at home all the time. It was hard to explain that she still couldn't live with them or sleep under the same roof, but he seemed to understand. Even so, Timothy hoped to spend all daytime hours with her.

Shelagh's face seemed divided between two options, and Patrick was about to tell her not to give in to the boy's wishes, when she spoke.

"Very well, I will go." The smile he saw was forced, but Tim only interpreted joy.

"Great! Now can we do the puzzle I bought yesterday?"

Patrick saw that Shelagh kept her smile stiff, and that she only nodded, so he decided to rescue her.

"Tim, why don't you buy things for dinner?"

"Ok. Are you coming with me, Shelagh?"

"No, Shelagh will not go, it is already cold and she must take care, do you remember that?"

The boy just nodded and stretched out his hand asking for money. Patrick handed him some coins.

"The list is on the kitchen table."

Dragging his feet, Timothy looked for the paper and slammed it shut.

"I must tell him that he must treat the doors more delicately." Patrick laughed, trying to lighten the mood. Shelagh barely imitated him, and stood up to accommodate the comics Tim had scattered on the living room table.

"Shelagh, you don't have to go." He reached out to take her wrist, marveling at how small it was. She sighed, and sat down next to him on the couch.

He saw her close her eyelids, taking a breath. She looked beautiful as always, but with a frown and he knew she was worried.

"I really don't want to go." She said opening her eyes. Patrick immediately put his hand to cradle her cheek, in her eyes so cheerful and blue now there was only pain.

"Then we will not go."

She shook her head, then rested her cheek more on his hand.

"Tim wants to go, and I already told him that I will go too."

"You can't let the boy do everything he wants, I don't let him and neither do you. He should know that he can't have everything he wants, more when it comes to people."

"If I don't do what he wants, he will hate me."

He blinked. He never heard her say something as hard as that, and he never heard so much pain in her voice. He wondered if there were other things Shelagh was feeling and clearly wasn't telling him.

"Shelagh." He took her by the shoulders, pulling her closer so she could look at him. "He won't hate you. You'll be living here in a very short time, and you'll realize that sometimes Tim can be irritable. But he loves you, like me."

She smiled, but lowered the eyes.

"He will never hate you, for nothing. You are perfect, there is no one who can hate you."

When he finished saying that, he knew it was the wrong thing, although he didn't know the reason. Shelagh clenched her eyelids and shook her head again, separating from him and looking straight ahead. Her hands tightened, then she twisted the fingers looking at them nervously.

"That's why I don't want to go to baptism. Everyone there hates me. I did something terrible for them." She looked at him, her eyes were full of tears that didn't fall. She took his hand and smiled. "But I don't regret it."

Far from feeling relieved, Patrick despaired. It was never among his intentions that a crack formed between the people Shelagh loved. She must understand that she could be with him and Tim, and at the same time with the people who were also her family.

"Shelagh."

But she was already standing, again busy with the comics.

"I'll go to that baptism, Patrick, I can't disappoint Tim. Who knows, it may not be so bad."

The sad smile she gave him to punctuate her words only made everything hurt more.

Shelagh's sigh, looking at the pension from his car, gave him equal joy and sadness.

"You really don't want to enter, don't you?"

"I didn't think it showed so much." She barely laughed, looking at him in the dark.

"Shelagh, we have to set a date. You don't want us to be engaged forever."

"Oh no, please, I don't want that, I want to marry you, not just be your fiancé." Her giggle sounded mischievous this time, so he took her hand and brought it to his lips. He didn't abandon her eyes at any moment, they looked stormy. Lately he had discovered that look in Shelagh every time he kissed her hand or her lips, and that look chased him before sleeping, in dreams, and when he woke up, and all day.

It was a look asking for more, a look she sure didn't even understand, but was there. He needed to marry her as soon as possible, so that it was not only her eyes that asked for more but her entire body.

Swallowing, he tried to get out of those thoughts, but Shelagh was taking his other hand, playing with his fingers while still looking at him. She also brought it to her lips kissing it slowly, and for him it took a lot of effort to suppress a groan.

"Patrick, I was thinking of a date…" Shelagh let go of his hand, not Patrick, but the spell was over.

"Oh no, Miss Mannion, we will not set a date on this car and with just…" He looked at the watch in his wrist, "...four minutes before the owner of the pension punishes you for being late. See you tomorrow? So we can talk quietly and go for a walk, far from here of course."

"Perfect." Her dreamy smile was too much for him, so he came over to give her a small kiss on the lips, Shelagh blinked and looked at him, brighter than before. "At 5? I will prepare some cupcakes. I...I don't know if you'll like them, I really don't know which ones are your favorites…"

The remarkable nervousness that suddenly rose was faded with another kiss on her hand.

"I will eat whatever you give me, even if it is soil."

He was satisfied to erase her nerves thanks to the laugh that burst from her mouth.

"They won't be as bad as that. Well, I'm leaving, see you tomorrow."

With a quick kiss on his cheek, she disappeared.

He firmly believed in the joy they had shared inside the car, but he couldn't forget dinner, where she still felt uncomfortable and sad. He hoped that with a date to marry, and with the baptisms, the sense of strangeness surrounding Shelagh would disappear. If it were for him, he would go to Nonnatus to talk to everyone and force them to love Shelagh and accept his decision, but that would only make everything worse.

In the end, the date was set inside the car.

What promised to be a sunny afternoon and a quiet walk, soon became a torrential rain that forced them to take two steps and run back to the car. Shelagh had laughed out loud and that sound mixed with the rain pounding on the roof of his car was like listening to a perfect piece of music.

She immediately began to sneeze, which caused him to repent again of taking her out on a date without thinking about her health. But she recovered soon and, helped by the heating of the car, her cheeks turned pink and her hands warm.

"I must say that this is exquisite."

"Really? I haven't baked anything in a long time, I was afraid that everything went wrong. I think they are tasteless."

"Shelagh, don't take your credit off, I really mean it, they're delicious."

Of course she blushed and looked away. Patrick noticed that she ate very little, like a little bird. He made a mental note to ask her later if she did it because she had no appetite or because she felt bad. He didn't want to spoil the moment with medical questions.

"And? What date did you want to talk to me yesterday?"

Shelagh put the last little piece in her mouth and licked two of her fingers. He looked elsewhere, lately everything she did with her lips was shamefully engraved in his mind.

"I thought about Christmas. Is very close."

"That would be beautiful. Everyone likes Christmas weddings."

She let out a sigh, shaking her head. Suddenly she looked terribly sad.

"Shelagh, I'm sorry. I don't know what I said wrong, but I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't apologize." She tightly closed the container where she had kept the cupcakes. "It's just...I don't want guests. Of course, I want Tim, but nobody else."

"Don't you want any guests?"

"Well, if you want…"

"I thought of some of my friends, but...won't you invite the nurses?"

"They are busy, you know how is work in Nonnatus."

"And the sisters?"

"No, neither. Can we go? I feel tired."

He was going to obey her, but stopped.

"Shelagh. Shelagh, look at me."

Releasing a sigh, she looked at him.

"Don't you want a big wedding? Like all the other girls?"

"I'm not like all the other girls." Her voice came out angry, her hands gripped the container, which it still had on her lap.

"I know, you are much better than the other girls. Shelagh, that you had before... another life, that a long time ago you made a decision and now another, that does not mean that you are less than other women. But I will do what you want, my love. I want everything to be as you wish."

She smiled a little, and he started the car. He was anxiously waiting for everything to be solved in the baptisms, the next day. He imagined Shelagh chatting and laughing with everyone, telling her latest news, showing her ring and holding Chummy's baby. While taking her to the pension, he silently begged that his illusions be fulfilled.

Tim talked and talked, and Shelagh only answered with monosyllables and forced smiles, while taking her hands nervously. She wore the same clothes as the day he handed her the ring, but this time her face was different. There was no joy, only discomfort.

"Very well, everything ready." Patrick adjusted his tie. "Come on?"

In her eyes he saw supplication and took her hands squeezing them a little. Tim ran outside and he stopped.

"We are still on time, we may not go. I can go with Tim, and you can stay calm here."

"Dad! Shelagh! We are going to arrive late!"

Looking toward the door, Shelagh shook her head.

"Tim calls us, come on." She took his hand tightly, pulling him out of the house. He couldn't help looking at his son angrily, this was his fault, but the boy was innocent.

As soon as they stepped on the street, Shelagh released him and walked beside Tim, chatting with him, as if she didn't know Patrick. He wanted to take her hand, walk hugging her, let everyone greet and congratulate them, but things would not be like that. Looking at the sky, he sent a prayer so that at least in Nonnatus, things were different.

But heaven didn't hear him.

As soon as Shelagh set foot in the convent, all heads turned toward her. Patrick thought he heard her heartbeat racing even though he was a few steps away. Shelagh concentrated on continuing to chat with Tim, just crossed a few words with Chummy and Cynthia.

As they walked down the long hall to the chapel, he felt the gaze of the nuns stuck in them, but decided to ignore them. Shelagh, on the other hand, looked worse and worse, as if her feet were ready to flee at any moment. She kept chatting with Tim although Patrick knew she wasn't paying attention.

He took a couple of steps to get ahead of his son and sit next to her in the church. Shelagh looked at him sternly, she really wanted Tim to stay between them, keeping a distance, but Patrick wouldn't have any of that. He wanted to show her, and everyone who was there, that they were a couple and that if they didn't, he would support her in everything she wanted.

During the service, he extended his hand to take hers, but she withdrew it, gathering them on her lap and looking straight ahead. As they left the chapel, he placed his hand on her back, but she pulled away. Sighing, he walked to the dining room, where two big cakes and different meals awaited the guests.

He did not move on her side, still looking at her or looking at the reactions of others. She remained stiff, her breathing agitated and her eyes restless everywhere. She didn't eat at all and desperately looked for Tim but the boy was busy talking to Peter about police stories and eating like a little beast.

Chummy approached with her baby and gave them a smile.

"Do you want to hold him?"

Shelagh, who was once Poplar's most competent midwife, trembled nervously.

"Oh, I don't know…"

"Come on, have him for a moment. I need to go to the toilet." With a chuckle, Chummy gave her the little baby and disappeared. Shelagh's features lit up as she stroked the baby's head. She looked at Patrick with bright eyes and a radiant smile, she looked like someone else.

"He's small but very pretty, isn't he?" Patrick whispered in her ear and she just nodded, still looking at the baby.

He saw Sister Julienne approaching, looking at them both with a doubtful smile on her face.

"Shelagh, how beautiful to see you here, how are you?"

Shelagh's radiant smile erased as soon as she pulled it away from little Freddie.

"I'm very well, sister." Her voice came out small and full of fear.

"I'm glad." Sister Julienne seemed to want to say something else, but Shelagh looked at the baby and Chummy returned. Shelagh stood up to give her the baby.

"Oh, you can have him." The nurse smiled at her but Shelagh looked at Patrick pleadingly. He cleared his throat.

"In fact, we must go."

"Oh, it's a shame." Chummy's voice was disappointed, as she grabbed her son in her arms.

"What? Are we leaving now?" Tim protested, still chewing. His lips were full of cream and there was a visible spot of the same on his sweater.

"Yes, Tim, we must go."

"But we just arrived!"

"Tim, enough."

He put a hand on his son's shoulder, leading him to the door. Shelagh followed them, quiet as a little mouse. He heard her let out a sigh when they went down Nonnatus's stairs and turned to look at her: she clenched her teeth, her eyes turned into two lakes about to overflow. He extended his hand to touch her, but backed away, fearing that would bother her even more. However, Shelagh tangled her arm in his and rested her head on his shoulder. They walked a few meters like that, until she separated.

For the rest of the day, she barely spoke.


	15. Chapter 15

XV

"_God, she is beautiful."_

He couldn't stop thinking that when he got home and found her there.

It was only a few days before the wedding, and he could no longer wait until her presence was not a surprise, but the constant in his life, her sweet voice and her smile receiving him after an arduous day of work.

However, she was as beautiful as sad.

The state of affairs was almost desperate for him, but he had to concentrate because now everything was about Shelagh and at her pace. He tried not to touch the subject, that their talks were only about them two and Tim, but she herself mentioned that Christmas she would not join the choir with the sisters and nurses, and he knew right away how much she missed those women who also were her family. The joy in her eyes that he saw as they chatted upon his arrival vanished, but he was there to catch her before she fell deeper into those feelings of sadness and loneliness that seemed to surround her at every step she took in her new life.

He mentioned the wedding, and that's all he had to do so that the happy and calm Shelagh he loved was back. She looked at the engagement ring and then looked at him, and all the sadness was gone.

But that only lasted a few moments, and he knew how deeply sad she was. He could feel jealous or offended, he was here, with her, about to get married, and she seemed so lonely in the world, yearning for other people.

But he understood her, and he knew that Shelagh was like that, she felt all things intensely and that was one of the reasons he loved her. She really was once very lonely, and those people gave her a family, and she was no longer there. How could she not miss them, and how could he be so selfish to be angry at that? He could only try to do his best for her, so that she would be happy by his side no matter who she was before and what people were saying.

So when she mentioned that in the convent there were roses only on St. Raymond Nonnatus Day, Patrick decided to talk about the sisters.

Not a single day had passed without Sister Julienne asking about Shelagh. Sister Evangelina hadn't done it, but one afternoon he heard her asking Jenny if she knew anything about Shelagh. And Sister Monica Joan did not speak to him, but he knew that her character had become more sullen since Shelagh was not in Nonnatus. They all missed her, and perhaps, if Shelagh agreed to invite them, everything would be fixed and there would be a small and bad memory in the past in the face of a future full of joy and reconciliation.

Her sharp response also cut off all those illusions. She didn't want any of that. She felt bad, felt that she had left everything for someone she loved more.

And then she said something that was disturbing to him. She wished they didn't love her. She said it with so much pain, that she only seemed to say that she was sure that they hated her, that she deserved no more than that. He was going to tell her that was not true, that she was completely wrong, but he could only say that she would feel better, that together they would find a way to get everything resolved. She looked at him incredulously. And then she continued, a little soul tormented, aching to love too much.

There were rules in religious life, and he knew it, he always found them quite restrictive, sometimes even a little ridiculous, but he was not the one to criticize that. There were rules about what time to get up or sleep, what to do or not to do in public, what to say, what to shut up, when to pray, what and when to eat. A completely structured life.

Now Shelagh was free, but she was completely without a guide. She had left a regulated life to enter another one where there were also supposed to be rules that no one ever told her, and he didn't have the courage to tell her about rules, because he wanted her to be free like the wind, to do whatever she wanted, to live her life. But for Shelagh, freedom could also be a prison full of doubts and uncertainties.

Patrick knew that loving Shelagh was not enough. If he was not there to take her hand and accompany her on this new path, her blue eyes that he loved so much would always be misty by sadness.

He was racking his brains thinking what to do, so the clock ran and ran, and he couldn't sleep. He heard knocks on the door, but he turned on the bed, tired. He was a doctor and should be available, but he really wanted to sleep. Maybe it was just a drunk man who wanted to bother.

But the knocks continued, and complaining a lot, he got out of bed and dressed as he could, wondering what terrible thing he had to face in that early morning.

When he opened the door, he knew there was no terrible thing waiting for him. Shelagh was there, looking worried. But she was there. She was suddenly homeless, and considered that this, _his_ home, was _her_ home.

She entered, apologizing at every step, ashamed that the only thing she brought was the wedding dress. Patrick saw a pink box, the temptation to look inside was powerful, but although he wasn't superstitious, there were some things he had to respect, and a groom couldn't see the dress before the wedding.

"Sorry Patrick but I have nothing but what I wear, I hope tomorrow I can return to take a shower and change my clothes and..."

"Shelagh, if you do that, you could already bring your things here. There are only two days left before you live here permanently."

She smiled broadly, and sat stiffly on the couch.

"I'm going to get my pajamas for you and I'll bring my pillow and blankets, so you can go up and stay in the bedroom."

"No, Patrick, I'll stay here on the couch. It will be better."

Unconvinced, he agreed. She looked worried, and also ashamed, and happy, and anxious. She was a bubbling mixture of emotions and that made her smile and blush

and make many gestures with her hands, therefore she looked adorable.

"Dad, what's going on?"

Tim's voice took him out of his reverie, and he looked at the stairs, where his son was rubbing his eyes, visibly annoyed at the volume of voice his father was using at 3 in the morning. His anger went away when he saw who was there.

"Shelagh! You already moved here! We don't have to wait until the wedding!"

He came over to give her a little hug and she messed up his hair even more.

"I'm for an emergency, there is a bomb out there and they took me out of the pension. I had nowhere to go so here I am."

"And the other people? Are they in the underground, like in the war?"

"Oh no, they are at the Leopold Institute. I didn't go there because... because it is better to be here."

Her nervous smile betrayed her, although Patrick knew very well why she did not go to the rescue center. Too many people who had been talking about them for days. And the sisters, and the nurses.

"Dad, you didn't offer anything to Shelagh, she must be hungry. You really are a terrible host."

Patrick burst out laughing and Shelagh too, as they watched Timothy turn on the kitchen lights and open biscuits cans.

"Come." He nodded, pointing to the stairs, and she followed him. They climbed in silence to the room.

Shelagh stood at the door, looking at her feet or anything but the interior.

"Shelagh, honey, you can come in. After all, it will be your bedroom in two days."

"It's true." She smiled shyly, and then entered.

"Sorry for the disaster, it seems that bomb exploded right here."

She laughed a little and took the pajamas he handed her. It was his best pajamas, he had hardly used it a couple of times.

"Oh, just give me the top, I think it's quite big."

"Miss Mannion, are you saying I'm fat?"

She laughed, mischievous, shrugging.

"Maybe I should put you on a diet in two days."

He smiled and stroked one of her arms, slowly.

"You know I will do everything you ask, even if it's swimming from here to New York to lose weight."

She laughed again, looking relaxed and calm.

"I will not ask you so much. Just be more tidy."

"Just that? You ask me for a great sacrifice." He pretended to complain but she stood on tiptoes and gave him a small kiss on the lips. He stared at her stunned.

"Well, you know how to order things."

Shelagh, laughing, winked. Then she walked to the bathroom so she could change her clothes.

Patrick waited outside, leaning against the wall of the hall, while listening to the noise of cups that his son produced in the kitchen. Shelagh came out of the bathroom very quickly, looking at the sleeves hanging from the pajamas, the fabric left over everywhere. She looked up and was scared.

"Patrick! I didn't know you were here."

He smiled and approached her, who lifted a sleeve and burst into giggles.

"I think it's a little...huge. But thanks, you are very kind and..."

"Shh..." Patrick shut her up with a kiss, to which she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. Seeing her in his pajamas was really producing things in him, and suddenly two days was too long to wait. He separated a little, just to kiss her again. He felt a little bad, she was laughing to wear his pajamas, and he wanted to tear it from her body. She was very innocent, and he was a beast.

"Don't you want my bed? Please." He whispered when he separated from her lips again. He adjusted a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to calm down. Knowing that she would sleep in his bed would torture him even more, but at the same time, he wanted that. He lowered his hands to her hips to bring her for another kiss, which she accepted.

"Thanks Patrick, but I'd like to sleep in that bed with you, not alone."

He blinked, shocked. Two minutes ago he considered her terribly innocent and now she was saying something like that. She burst into giggles again and touched his chin, still laughing.

"Close your mouth." She said, and he knew he was looking at her like an idiot with his mouth open. By the time he reacted, she was coming down the stairs, rolling up her sleeves, the low light of the house shining in her loose hair, her bare feet walking down the steps with the grace of a dancer. How happy and shameless this Shelagh was, how many surprises she would have for him to discover little by little.

He went downstairs, she was already settling on the couch, covering her legs quickly, perhaps because of shame or cold. He sat next to her, she kept laughing at everything as Tim entered with a tray of teacups.

There were only two days left. In two days, she would be at home forever.

It was too long.

He woke up startled. It was already day and his son had just opened the door of the bedroom.

"Dad you fell asleep, what a shame! What will Shelagh think?"

That said, Timothy left with an air of indignation.

He was also indignant. When he went to bed he could not sleep, the events made him too happy. He planned to get up, spy on Shelagh, watch her sleep or surprise her, but as soon as that idea crossed his mind, it seems that the sleepiness came and he couldn't do it. Now she would leave, and he would lose the privilege that would only come with the wedding.

He forgot the trouble when he saw her moving around the kitchen with a big breakfast. He looked at the watch, he would be late if he stopped to eat all this, but he didn't want to disappoint her.

"Love, all this was not necessary." He said approaching. He kissed her, but she walked away quickly, looking at Tim.

"Yes Dad, it is necessary, I'm a growing child."

"Since I said that to Jack's mother, that boy hasn't stopped saying it and now you do too." He sat at the table, ready to start eating.

"We are the same age, so I am also growing. That's why sometimes my body hurts. You also told that to Jack's mother."

"Yes, it's normal. Shelagh! Come to eat, stop what you are doing."

She appeared with more toasts and sat down. He saw her eat as little as ever.

"You should eat more, love."

"Are you also growing, Shelagh?"

"Tim." Patrick looked at his son severely, but Shelagh just laughed.

"Unfortunately that is in the past! Patrick, I never have much appetite, it has always been that way. Oh." She dropped the toast on her plate, suddenly very obfuscated. "They said on the radio that this whole issue of the bomb is not yet solved. Maybe it's for tomorrow. Those poor people, I don't know what the sisters and the girls will do to help all of them."

"And poor of you." Patrick took her hand and squeezed it. "You surely want your things."

"It wasn't so many things." She smiled shyly. "I have the most important thing."

Patrick squeezed her hand more and looked at his son who was still eating like a little pig. Many times he told him to behave in front of Shelagh but the boy did it and then forgot his good education.

"Tim, do you want to go to Leopold Institute? It is more than certain that Jack is there."

Timothy put down the toast and looked at him. It sounded bad but he wanted his son to leave to be with Shelagh a little after finishing his rounds in the morning."

"No, I'll stay here."

Sighing, Patrick put the serviette on the table and stood up, and then kissed Shelagh on the forehead.

"Very good, but don't behave badly, help Shelagh with her things. I will see you later."

Heading to the door, he saw that Shelagh was following him.

"Is something wrong, honey?" He whispered.

She put her hands on his shoulders, and stretching, she kissed him.

"Now you can go to work."

When he returned, he did not expect to find the chaos in Poplar, also inside his house.

Music, shouting, children running, and Akela's whistle trying to calm the pack. Shelagh was nervous but was smiling. He was afraid of children, because they could repeat what they heard in their homes without any filter, but none said anything.

His son was chatting and laughing with Jack, and then he carried Chummy's baby. For a moment, he thought of that image repeating but instead of someone else's child, a baby of his and Shelagh's, and Timothy behaving like an older brother. He looked at Shelagh who was beside him laughing. She was so natural with children. If she wanted a dozen of them, he would gladly agree.

The improvised party came to an end and he proposed to take the children to the Institute. He felt Shelagh's gaze on him looking at him with so much love written in her eyes. It took a great effort not to turn and plant a kiss on her, he didn't care if all those little beasts were there watching them. But Shelagh had already proved reluctant to be affectionate with Timothy around, so with so many children watching, she wouldn't hesitate to slap him.

He took all the Cubs safe and sound with their families and returned home. There Timothy dragged the chairs to put them in place and Shelagh kept dishes in the kitchen. He looked at his son and entered the kitchen, to take her by the waist. She was startled but turned in his arms and smiled at him.

"The dinner is ready." She announced. "I could not do much, with all the children here..."

"That's not a problem." He gave her a little kiss but she pulled away. "What's wrong?"

"Patrick, Timothy is there."

"The child is more asleep than awake, he is also in the living room."

"It doesn't matter, what will he think?"

"Shelagh, there are children who grow up watching their parents beating and insulting each other. Don't you think it's good that one of them grows up watching their parents love each other?"

Shelagh separated from his arms, returned to the task of storing the dishes. She seemed even offended and Patrick couldn't understand what was wrong.

"That would be nice if they were his parents whom he sees. I'm not his mother."

"He sees you like his mother!" He spoke louder than he wanted, and Tim appeared at the door.

"What happens? Are you fighting?"

"No Tim, quite the opposite, just..."

"Timothy, dinner is ready, wash your hands so you can eat and sleep, you look very tired."

Shelagh pulled a strand of unruly hair from Tim's forehead, and he nodded and walked to the bathroom.

"You see it? He does everything you ask. He sees you as his mother."

"No, Patrick, I don't want to replace her."

Shelagh sat at the table, played with the edge of the tablecloth and sighed.

"It would be beautiful if he considered me his mother, but I'm satisfied that he doesn't think of me as the stepmothers of fairy tales. I don't want him to believe that I'm an intruder in his house and in his life."

"You know he doesn't think that way about you. He loves you. Like me." He took her hand and she smiled. "I have already told you that sometimes he can be irritable, but in time he will love you more and more, you will see that you will be like a mother to him. We already talked about it before I proposed you to marry me. He always loved you, a lot. And I think he'll love you more if he sees the two of us love each other too."

"What are you talking about?" Tim dropped into his chair.

"Nothing. Look at what delicious food Auntie Shelagh prepared."

They ate fast, everyone was quite tired. When Patrick stood up and announced that he would go to bathe and sleep, this time he did not kiss Shelagh on the forehead but on the mouth.

"Oh, that's disgusting! Why do you give Auntie Shelagh your microbes? And then you send me to wash my hands!"

Shelagh looked embarrassed but laughed with Tim's comment.

"Because I love her so much." Patrick said. "And you will do the same in a few years!"

"No, never! It's awful!"

He listened to Shelagh's laugh as he climbed the stairs, and then to both of them chatting while doing the dishes.

When he finished bathing, the whole house was already silent. He went to see his son, who was already sleeping soundly. Then he entered his room and lay down.

But he pushed the blankets away and stood up, sneaking down the stairs, hoping to find Shelagh asleep too. If she was, he would just look at her, engrave that image in his mind and go to sleep thinking about her. And if not, he would sit next to her, to give her a kiss or several, chat a little more, and make plans for the future.

He did not expect to find something completely different. Standing on a chair, Shelagh was in a gray dress. Beside her, the box where the wedding dress was kept was open and empty.

He did not understand the reason for such a dress, but he understood when he saw her face in the mirror.


	16. Chapter 16

XVI

He woke up early, he couldn't sleep much. Nerves from the wedding had him more upset than he seemed, and that added to the problem of the bomb did not help much.

He got up making as little noise as possible. After seeing Shelagh the night before, he wanted to wake her up with a kiss, perhaps try to make her breakfast. He had inadvertently seen her dress, and now he worried that it would bring bad luck, but what worried him most was that Shelagh was not happy, and that was what he saw the night before.

He had heard women say that when they put on their wedding dresses they cried with emotion. Marianne herself once told him that she felt more beautiful than a queen, but none of that happened to Shelagh. He saw her sad, uncomfortable, she had quickly got down from the chair, shaking her head, taking off her little hat and looking at it with a frown, she seemed angry at everything and frustrated.

Then he saw no more, returned to the bedroom, wondering what had just happened before his eyes.

He thought he knew women quite well, but he was really puzzled. All he wished was that Shelagh's concern was only about the dress, and not about anything else.

Doubts began to assail him. What if she didn't want to marry him? What if everything was too hasty? What if she married only because of Tim? And the worst, what if she wanted to go back to the convent?

He was a terrible husband for Marianne. He was never at home, he never helped, he was always running after other people. She always seemed happy, but maybe she wasn't. He was only there for her when her illness started to get worse and worse. That was marriage, in sickness and in health, but he was never in health, he missed many happy moments with Marianne and Tim.

What made him think that things would change? He was sure he had learned the lesson, but did he? He did not know. Perhaps in the early days he could behave, but later? Later he could ruin Shelagh's life, lose his second chance at being a better husband, a better father, a better person.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. When he thought all the doubts he had while she was in the sanitarium were gone, they were back now.

He sat back on the bed, trying to calm down.

Then he looked at the bed. Tomorrow she would be here. Would she be afraid of him? Would he be kind enough to her so she wouldn't run away? What if she didn't want to? He would respect her. He had promised to give her everything, to do whatever she asked. But he was a man. Sometimes he saw her and his emotions went straight to his body and he held back because they were not married yet. What would happen next? What if she tried it once and didn't like it? What if she didn't like what she was seeing, his tired and old body?

He would try, he would do everything to make her happy, that she felt comfortable, that she always laughed and had that spark of mischief that sometimes came to the surface.

He must be an exemplary husband.

And for that, he had to be an exemplary fiancee.

So he stood up, and went downstairs.

But Shelagh was already awake, making breakfast. He was disappointed.

He walked to the kitchen, she was sucking on her index finger, looking at it and sucking again. He came up behind her and took her by the waist.

She was startled, but immediately relaxed against him. He whispered a good morning in her ear and kissed her hair.

"What happened to that finger?" He said taking her hand.

"I burned myself, like a fool I touched the pan without having a cloth in my hand, I think I will have a small blister."

Patrick looked at her finger without releasing Shelagh's waist, pressing it firmly against him with one hand. She stroked his hand, still leaning against him. He put her finger to his mouth and kissed it gently.

"Those are the doctor's remedies?" He heard her say and then she laughed as he pulled her closer to him and tickled her. Shelagh turned in his arms and looked at him with a huge smile.

"Now are you going to criticize my work? First that I'm not tidy, now that you don't like my remedies."

"I didn't say I don't like them."

She stood on tiptoe and gave him a little kiss. She had that look that he already knew, a mixture of mischief and perversion. He swallowed hard.

"You are terrible, you know?"

She shrugged, laughing, and left his arms, to make sure the water was ready for tea.

"I'm going to the West End today." She said without looking at him.

"Why? Can I help?" He said taking a couple of eggs.

"No, Patrick leave that there." She laughed again. "You can bring the dishes to the table."

He obeyed her and then returned to the kitchen.

"I can take you to the West."

"No, thanks, I'll go on the bus. I'm going for...dress stuff."

He secretly let out a sigh of relief. She would change the dress, he was sure. She did not like it, and that color did not suit her either. She deserved white, more than any other woman, she deserved a dress that was the envy of a princess, but he would love her in anything she wore, or better, in anything she did not wear.

She walked past him with a cup of tea and he grinned at her, knowing that she would come back with something she liked and was comfortable with.

She ate little, as always, and in a few moments she was giving him a quick kiss and left.

He called Tim and began to review what he had to do in his day.

Unfortunately, the hairdresser was to be left for the next day.

Tim was a little disappointed, he had been talking about the Brylcreem for weeks, and that he was a growing child, and that using Brylcreem would make him an adult. He seemed a little pleased when Patrick mentioned a visit to Capriani´s and then he ran to the call he had just received.

Unfortunately, he must have been for Tim's friend. Jack had polio and that was a great complication, since other children could catch it, and even more so when they were crowded together.

His morning passed between the arrangements for the transfer of Jack, the tears of his mother and siblings, and the general concern of all the families who were in the rescue center.

It was not until noon that he finished everything and Sister Julienne approached him, her face full of anguish. He felt that she was going to tell him that another child was sick.

"Doctor, I have bad news. Nurse Franklin just spoke with Shelagh, she called here, looking for you."

Shelagh's name set off all the alarms. He stood up, the jumble of papers in front of him crashing down.

"Timothy is in the hospital…"

He no longer heard anything, he was frantically looking for his coat, while Sister Julienne followed him. He had a cloud of terror in his mind, imagining the thousands of things Tim could have suffered to end up in the hospital. Finally he felt the nun taking his arm.

"Doctor, it's polio."

The answer was there. Polio. A short name, which contained long misfortunes.

And it had his son in its clutches.

He heard Sister Julienne say something else, but he was already jumping into the car, driving like crazy, looking for any empty place to park his car and leave it open and run to the hospital door, no matter how many nurses, doctors, or patients he was pushing, running through all the hallways, pushing doors, praying it was only a light dose of Polio, hoping to find his son in bed laughing or playing.

Shelagh's little figure pulled him out of his fog of anguish, she was standing in front of a closed door. She turned to him, he had never seen so much fear and sadness on her face streaked with desperate tears. She extended her hand and asked for forgiveness, but he did not understand why, he just wanted to see his son and he distinguished his little face in an iron lung. His frantic steps stopped when he saw that he had no hope, that things were worse than he imagined.

He approached slowly, spoke his name, stroked his hair, so similar to Marianne's, and a nurse gave him stupid explanations that he already knew, which he read thousands of times on his student nights. None of that worked for him, nothing in his life made sense if his son was here.

Jack was fine, and for the first time he did not care at all how his patient was. He wished it was Jack who was here, and Tim in his place.

He cried and called him, stroked him, spoke to him, begged his mother not to take him away.

The nurse touched his shoulder and he looked at her.

"Here's a chair, doctor."

Not a thank you came out of his mouth. He sat up and continued to watch for any signs, but Tim looked like he was no longer with him.

After a long time, or so it seemed, he remembered Shelagh. It was strange, he had months and months with her continually on his mind, and he had just realized that he had completely forgotten her for hours perhaps.

He turned in the chair, but she was not at the door. He dried his face with a hand, took a deep breath, and stood up. He would look for her, ask her what happened, if she needed anything. She was, in a way, Tim's mother too, and as such she must have been very distressed and needed comfort. He left the room, looked everywhere but she was not there. Where could she have gone? It was night, it was cold, they were very far from Poplar, and she was alone, she had no one else except him and Tim. His throat knotted, something could have happened to her. Then he looked back to the room where his son was, and returned to him.

/

As he watched his son fighting for his life, he wanted to die. This was a punishment of fate. He had lost Marianne, all he had left of her was this boy who was practically dying, and he was a doctor and there was nothing he could do for him. They were taking away his son, his little boy, mischievous and curious, always with a complaint on his lips and a saving laugh that brought his father out of any of his hells.

And now Tim was here, beside him, motionless. It was a terrible punishment, he knew it, he knew what the reason was.

Italy came to his mind, when doctors were no longer needed because there were so many dead that soldiers were needed, and someone put a weapon in his hands and he killed, he never knew how many, but he did it. On the day he died, those dead men would be waiting for him to claim, as would be the soldiers he could not save, or those he had to amputate, or those he had to kill with an injection so that they would stop suffering atrociously.

His son was paying for it, his wife too, and Shelagh too, because her life was ruined. Today she must be dressed as a bride, she must marry him, and he would not keep that promise.

The room's door opened, and he saw Shelagh's figure silhouetted against the light. He extended a hand for her to help him out of the well where his mind was. She looked so anguished taking his hand, kissing it, saying I'm here. And he wanted her not to be there, to run away from him and his demons. She was so beautiful, sweet and good, a precious angel, and he was a terrible demon that would stain her soul.

"How are you?" She whispered. He knew that his face would be terrible, he could see it in her frightened eyes.

He swallowed hard. How to tell her all this? How to fill her with even more worry? How to tell her: "Shelagh, this is a punishment for me, you must save yourself, I'm a bad man, the war made me a monster, I'm broken"?

She left his hand, he feared that she had heard his thoughts, but she only looked for a chair to sit in front of him and take his hand again.

"Patrick, are you feeling alright?" She asked again.

He nodded a little, squeezed her hand.

"I'm fine, Shelagh."

"You can go outside, I will stay with Timothy until the visiting hours end."

"No, I want to stay with him. You can stay as long as you want, Shelagh. I told them that you are his mother. We are his parents. And I'm a doctor. We can stay with him, they won't get us out of here."

She barely smiled, then her eyes filled with tears as she looked at Timothy.

"Thanks, Patrick." She whispered, stroking the boy's hair.

They said nothing more, they just held hands, breathing shakily as they did not take their eyes off the little boy.

Patrick gently put down her hand and sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Shelagh."

She looked at him, her eyes were angry.

"Don't you dare say that, Patrick Turner."

Then she looked at Tim again, and said nothing more.

/

The nurses came and went. Every so often a doctor passed by, greeted him and continued with the rounds.

The room was darkening as night came again. Shelagh was still in front of him, his dry lips moving imperceptibly, praying. Her hair was messy and her eyes were red with tears.

He could have married this beautiful woman, right now they could be being happy.

When this nightmare ended, or really started, he would tell her to leave him. She must get away from him, seek another life. Shelagh was so smart, her potential could flourish anywhere. There was no point in her tying herself to a man with a sick son, or a man with a dead son.

"Patrick."

He felt her take his hand gently and barely smile at him. He tried to answer but could do nothing. She just stroked his hand, still looking at Tim.

"Where did you go last night?" He asked.

"With the sisters." She pursed her lips, and looked at him. "Sister Julienne made the calls to suspend everything."

He nodded and squeezed her hand.

"You did your best, Shelagh."

She smiled slightly and refocused her attention on Tim.

Suddenly he noticed Tim fluttering his little blond lashes and spoke. His voice was a hoarse growl, his poor throat would be dry and battered.

Shelagh looked at Tim with huge eyes and repeated his request.

"Brylcreem?"

She ran to find a nurse and Patrick spoke to Timothy, reassuring him, although the boy did not understand where he was.

Together they began to cry, Tim due to fear and Patrick to joy.


	17. Chapter 17

XVII

"Am I breathing, Dad?"

It was heartbreaking to see his son like that, but he was breathing, he was alive. His child would emerge from this battle.

The consequences were inevitable, it would be a terrible wound to the soul if Tim could not walk again, or if his condition worsened. But he must have faith.

It was strange that he said it to himself, but it had been Shelagh who had whispered it to him.

You must have faith. It was what she said as he looked helplessly at his son in his arms, looking for any signs that told him that Timothy could still suffer much more.

He nodded, smiled, and Timothy barely answered with a tired, aching smile, but he answered, and that should be enough for today.

They were both holding the boy, as if they were a new version of La pietà, and they kept looking at him despite listening to the rumor of the nurses ready to take them out of the room.

Shelagh dropped a few quiet tears as they laid Tim down on the bed, covered him, and said good night.

Although he could barely speak, Timothy reached out for Shelagh and she took his hand, squeezed it, and then Tim smiled when Shelagh kissed him on the forehead.

"Good evening, love, tomorrow I will be here first thing in the morning."

They had to go, the worst was over, but neither of them was willing to stop looking at the boy, to check every second if he was still breathing, if he could move.

"Come on mom and dad, it's time to go." Said one of the nurses peeking out the curtain. Patrick looked at Shelagh, she was barely smiling, he guessed it would be by being recognized as "mom."

They walked through the corridors of the hospital without saying anything, almost without getting close. When they went outside and the cold night air hit them, he offered her his arm for her to take and walk together.

"You must be hungry." He whispered, but she shook her head. "Come on, I'll take you to the rescue center, there you can eat and rest."

She released his arm, stopping. He turned to look at her.

"Shelagh?""

"Can I go with you?"

"I'm just going home."

He realized, as if struck by lightning, what she wanted to say to him. She wanted to go back to his home, her home, the home she must be living in if everything had not turned into a nightmare.

He reached out his hand and she took it, tears streaming down her perfect face again.

"Do you really want to go home with me? They can talk about us."

She just shrugged.

"In these moments, what matters less to me is what people say. I only want to be with you. Please."

Her eyes, filled with tears barely illuminated by the street light, were like a stab. They had so much pain, grief, guilt and fear. He opened his arms to hug her and she pressed against him.

He had panicked for hours, but forgot that she must have been terribly frightened and alone, with nowhere to go. He silently thanked the sisters who accepted her again, but still had no heart to send her again with them.

"I just want to accompany you, I don't want you to be alone. Marriage is to be accompanied and supporting each other."

Her voice cracked. He parted, took her face in both hands, and kissed her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, my love. I know we should be married, forgive me."

She looked at the ground, shook her head.

"I already told you not to say that, it's not your fault. It's my fault for not seeing Timothy feel bad instead of worrying about that stupid dress."

"You can't blame yourself for that, no one can. You know what diseases are like, they are nobody's fault."

He took her hand and they walked to the car. Before reaching their home, they saw that people had already left the rescue center. Rubble covered some streets, product of the bomb that exploded. Shelagh seemed uneasy, looking everywhere.

He stopped the car when he saw a police officer who informed them that the sisters could not return to Nonnatus and that they were going to different places to spend Christmas.

He saw Shelagh trying to hide more tears, reached out to squeeze her hand.

"I'm sorry."

"It was my house for so long…I suppose it will disappear, like all that life I had there."

"Shelagh the sisters are very dear, they will quickly give them a better place. I am sure that this bomb will attract the eyes of the authorities to Poplar and will improve many things."

She smiled, squeezing his hand.

"You are always full of hope."

"Hope is what allowed me to dream about you, my love."

/

They entered the apartment and immediately Shelagh started looking for something to cook. He walked behind her, taking a plate from her hand.

"Don't cook, Shelagh. Do you want to bathe? I'll go in search of fish and chips. If you want that, of course."

"Yes, I would like it very much."

Kissing her hair, he walked away.

When he returned with the hot food, he trembled looking for Tim's voice, and realizing that his son was not there. He stood by the door, trying to breathe.

"Patrick?"

Shelagh appeared dressed in his pajamas. At another time he would have concentrated on her bare legs or her loose, slightly damp hair, but his head had only terrible images.

She removed the food from his hands, left it on the floor and wrapped her arms around his neck, in a tight hug that he reciprocated with force, trying to suppress the sob that threatened to come out since he learned that his son was seriously ill. But Shelagh stroked his hair and back gently, and his grip tightened until he finally let it out.

He felt her lips on his cheek, whispering that he could cry all he needed, that she was there with him.

He released her without knowing how long it had been, but the pajamas she was wearing were wet with his tears. She caressed his face, kissed his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead.

"Thanks Shelagh." Was all he could say.

"Love, don't thank me for that. I am here with you."

He nodded, feeling worn out by everything. She raised the food, already cold. He stood in the hallway, listening to her open the packages and heat the food. She returned, and took his hand.

"I don't want to eat."

"Come on Patrick, you need to eat something, even just a little."

She led him to the table and sat him down. She stroked a few strands of his hair. Her touch was calming, like everything in her.

"Timothy is fine now. It's all over, now we must focus on helping him."

"I just want to marry you as soon as possible." He said in an attack of sincerity. He wanted to give her what she wanted and he could not give. He needed her to be like this in his house and with him forever, he needed that security in his life.

She smiled as she put the food on his plate.

"Now the one who doesn't want to get married is me."

He opened his eyes, scared, but she giggled as she sat across from him.

"I was thinking...I would like something more...big. Can l?"

"A wedding as it should be."

"Yes. What happened to Timothy taught me that I must celebrate beautiful things. And also the sisters did not leave me aside as I thought. So I want my wedding."

"With a dress that you like, cake, flowers, and guests."

"Yes." She smiled sheepishly as she played with the chips.

"We will have a huge wedding, the largest in Poplar. The queen will envy you."

"Patrick!" She laughed embarrassed, eating a little. ""But it will be when Timothy is better. He is your best man, he must be standing next to you, waiting for me."

"It will be as you ask. Shelagh, you were worried about Timothy and his relationship with you but you already saw how he loves you. Tonight he only wanted you by his side."

She smiled again, without looking at him and saying nothing more.

They ate in silence, his stomach that seemed closed now was hungry. Shelagh stood up, ready to make her bed on the sofa.

"Shelagh."

She turned to him, raising her eyebrows.

He swallowed, what he wanted to say could produce two things: that she abandoned him, or that she ran away. But the truth is that he knew that tonight he could not sleep, that a thousand nightmares would attack him. Shelagh would be sleeping a few steps away, so close and yet so far.

"Can you...sleep with me? Just for tonight."

He watched her reaction. She did not seem shocked. He was bewildered as her eyes filled with tears again and she leaned toward him to take his face in her delicate hands.

"Oh Patrick, you feel very lonely, don't you?"

He looked down. He didn't want to tell her his fears, the most terrible things he could see in dreams.

She kissed his forehead.

"I will do it. I...wouldn't be able to sleep alone tonight either."

"I thought you were going to slap me, or leave me."

"How silly you are, I'm too in love with my Turner boys to leave them abandoned. And I would never slap you, love."

"You say that because you haven't heard me snore."

She laughed, it was a laugh filled with joy, the first one he had heard from her in days.

He took her left hand, which was still holding her face, and kissed her right on the scar.

"Shelagh, you don't have to if you don't want to. We will only sleep, I promise I will behave well."

"I already know that. As I also know I want to do it. So come on, go take a shower while I order here and go to bed."

He kissed her softly on the lips and got up from the chair. His bones protested throughout his body and he couldn't help but complain. He felt old and tired, and Shelagh moved gracefully throughout the kitchen, young and pretty.

He got into the bathroom before continuing to be the breeding ground for his bad thoughts and doubts.

/

The warm water had relaxed him in such a way that he could fall asleep on his feet. He almost crawled out of the bathroom and before entering his room, he opened Timothy's door. His things were everywhere, but his backpack was on the bed. He approached and opened it, inside, very neatly, there were clothes, some toys and comics. Shelagh had already prepared everything for the next day.

He entered his room, Shelagh's blond hair was scattered on his pillow, the light turned on her calm face while she slept soundly. The air left his lungs at her beauty.

He sat down trying not to make noise, but she opened her eyes.

"I didn't know which is your place in the bed." He didn't know why they were whispering, but her small voice was sweeter than all the different tones registered in his mind.

"It is the one you are occupying." Embarrassed, she sat down, but he took her arm. "Stay there. So tomorrow I can feel your perfume on my pillow."

"What a poet." She smiled and settled in better, covering the covers up to her chin.

He turned off the light and turned to her, reaching an arm around her waist, afraid she would pull away. But on the contrary, she snuggled into his chest, like a kitten looking for warmth. The gesture filled him with tenderness, he kissed her hair several times.

"I always dreamed that I was late from work and found you already asleep here."

"It's better if I'm awake." She raised her head to look at him.

"Yes, but I would like to see you asleep in my bed. You are an angel when you are awake, so you will be even more angelic while you sleep."

She barely laughed.

"Except if I snore like you."

He hugged her, giving her more kisses on her hair.

"Thank you dear, for everything. For being here when I need you most."

She gently kissed his lips and stroked his hair.

"Thanks to you for letting me be with you. Sleep Patrick, you need it so much."

She yawned and settled more into his arms.

He was invaded by her softness, her aroma, and her calm and safe breathing.

/

His dreams were dramatic, as he expected, but when he woke up he found Shelagh still sleeping peacefully next to him. He kissed her on the cheek, and played idly with a lock of her hair in the early morning light. Everything was silent but he couldn't sleep anymore, he knew it, so he tried to fill his head with the sweet image of Shelagh sleeping. It still seemed incredible to him that the woman he dared to love in the shadows was now with him, letting herself be embraced by his arms, letting herself be kissed by his lips, letting herself be touched by his rough hands.

He wanted to tell her to go away and leave him, that he didn't deserve her, but she was determined to stay by his side and he didn't want to contradict her. He sighed, hoping the three of them would soon be happy with no burdens on them.

When the sun began to rise, she moaned angrily and weakly covered her eyes with one hand.

"Shelagh." He whispered in her ear and she complained again. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

She suddenly opened her eyes and sat down.

"Timothy!" We should go see him right now."

"It's still more than two hours until that, love." He said taking her by the arm. "We can still be here a few more minutes before having breakfast. What do you want to eat?"

"Will you cook?" She raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

Patrick took one of the strands of her hair and placed it behind her ear. Without the glasses and disheveled, with his pajamas on and her eyes half closed from sleep, she was quite an image. He kissed her on the lips, and she hugged him. He parted immediately, knowing they were both on dangerous ground. The bed was not a good place to share these kisses, with Shelagh looking like no one had ever seen her.

She seemed to feel the same, so she sat back down and combed her hair with her fingers, searching for the clothes she had carefully folded on the chair the night before.

"I'll go for breakfast." He announced, giving her time to change her clothes.

She appeared in the kitchen when he had two good cups of coffee and some toasts ready. Her hair was loose but neatly combed and her eyes sparkled with joy. He couldn't help but hug her, thank her once more, and kiss her. This time, the kiss deepened and she clutched her arms around his neck. They were no longer on dangerous ground, but they were alone.

He parted his mouth from her lips and kissed her jaw, then made a small path to her neck.

She sighed, then gently pushed him away. Her gaze was accusatory and severe.

"I am sorry." Was the first thing he said.

"Patrick, we are not married yet."

"I know, darling, I know. I'm sorry. But it was only kisses. And…you know?" He took her hand, played with her fingers. "Kisses are not prohibited."

Her gaze was still severe, but also curious.

"These kisses are not?"

"No." Smiling, he took her waist with both hands and directed her to the nearest wall, leaning her against it.

Shelagh looked at his hands on her waist, then looked at his face. Patrick saw her eyes fill with shyness, but still she reached out to kiss him softly. He responded gratefully, but he immediately deepened the kiss, his tongue invading her mouth as she clung to his arms, letting out a small moan.

Hearing that moan was the signal for him to stop, though he wanted to hear it a thousand times more. He knew that if he pressed his luck to listen to it again, he would end up going wild in a terrible way.

He wanted to pull away but felt one of Shelagh's hands in his hair, the other squeezing his shoulder pulling him closer to her. He parted, yes, but the sight of her parted lips and closed eyes led him to kiss her again and then to her jaw and neck. She still seemed a little reluctant, but he tightened his hands on her waist and they traveled all over her back. She threw her head back, letting out another small moan. The creamy skin on her neck was a constant call to his mouth and tongue, he wanted to suck and savor it for hours. Her neck was always a temptation, and now he could do it.

He felt his body respond to all the stimulations Shelagh caused him, and he knew he had to let her go before she was forever scared of him, or before he lost control of himself.

He parted and looked at her, her deep eyes looking at him with even more curiosity. He swallowed, she might be reticent but then very enthusiastic.

"I told you I wanted to marry you as soon as possible." He said to try to alleviate the situation that he himself had created.

She smiled even though she seemed a little overwhelmed by everything.

"And I told you I don't want to get married now, Patrick Turner." She touched the tip of his nose with her index finger. "I know what you want to do with me, but you will have to wait. Although I liked those kisses a lot."

She slipped out of his arms and, walking in front of him with a sway of her hips that he was sure he had never seen before, looked for the plate of toasts.

/

"Shelagh!"

Timothy stretched his arms out to her and she couldn't help any more tears.

"Dear! Look how well you are!"

Shelagh sat on the edge of his bed and opened Tim's backpack, taking out his things. They both started chatting, completely forgetting about Patrick. He didn't care, he was happy seeing them from a corner. Timothy was much better, at least in the mood.

"Oh, I forgot to buy the last issue of your favorite comic. Patrick, can you go? Downstairs there is a newspaper shop, they sell it there."

"No, Shelagh, Dad doesn't know what comic I want. Can you go?"

Shelagh looked at them both and nodded. When she left, Patrick approached his son.

"Why did you do that? I know perfectly which comic I should buy, I always bought them for you."

"Dad, I wanted to talk to you. In private." Said the boy solemnly.

"You never want to talk to me, that's weird."

"It is serious. I...wanted to apologize, I didn't say I felt bad because I wanted you to marry Shelagh, and if I got sick, you two were going to suspend everything. I didn't think it would be so serious...Are you going to punish me?"

"No, son." He ruffled his hair, feeling proud. "You are very honest and sensitive. But next time, whatever it is, you tell me."

"Are you going to get married? I was afraid Shelagh would leave us, but she looks happy."

"We are going to get married and it will be a great wedding. You're going to be my best man, right?"

"I don't know…" Timothy lowered his eyes, toyed with a loose thread from his sheet.

"Tim?"

"I can't walk, dad. You better find someone else to be your best man."

"It will be you. The wedding will be when you already walk, because you will. You will not be disabled, son. But for that, you must do all the physical therapy sessions, no matter if it hurts, you must be brave. Yes?"

Timothy nodded several times and strangely allowed himself to be kissed by his father.

"Dad, while I was so bad, I dreamed of Mom."

Patrick was stroking his son's hair, he stopped dead.

"Yes?"

"Yes. She was happy, I asked her to please not take me with her. I didn't want to die. She told me that she just wanted to say hi and tell me that she loves me. Do you think it really was her? I think it was just my desire to see her."

"I'm sure it was her, Tim. Trust her, she wanted to talk to you."

Shelagh returned with the comic in hand and showed triumphant.

"Here it is!"

Tim's face lit up as he grabbed the comic.

"Thanks Shelagh, you're great!"

Patrick looked at her, she had a beaming smile.

/

As the days progressed, Timothy progressed as well.

He felt tired and sore but he had already made friends and told them that as soon as he got out of there, he would go to his father's wedding. The other children did not understand, so he took it upon himself to explain that his father would marry "the pretty young lady who always comes to see me."

Patrick found himself feeling jealous of a group of children no more than 11 years old who told him with all their cheek that they liked "the pretty young lady."

But he didn't blame them. Shelagh seemed to have been reborn, she was becoming the Shelagh he always wanted to see. She came and went, greeted everyone, chatted with nurses, laughed and smiled for everyone. She was a new Shelagh, more confident and serene, who now visited the sisters and claimed to have a new wedding dress. It was natural for the entire hospital to have the eyes full of stars for her.

"You're so charming". He said one night as they were leaving the hospital. He had purposely left the car further away, for a short walk before she returned to her pension. His days were full of work again, but the afternoons were for Timothy and the nights to dream of her while he smelled his pajamas full of her perfume. Despite seeing her every day, he missed spending moments alone with her.

She replied with a smile, while leaning on his arm.

"I'm just trying to make everyone cheer up. They're kids, they need a little kindness, and the hospital nurses don't stand out for that."

He kissed her hair.

"May I ask you a date for tomorrow, Miss Mannion?"

"Tomorrow? Oh Patrick I can't, I must go to Chummy's house and try on the dress."

He stopped and looked at her, smiling.

"That dress will be spectacular, won't it? Because you have tried it on many times."

"Oh, it isn't, but Chummy needs to make adjustments, and I like to chat with her. And I also love wearing it." She smiled widely. "Patrick, everything is going so well now…"

Her eyes darkened and her smile faded to a tight line on her lips. Patrick took her gently by the elbows.

"Are you afraid?"

"I don't know, I suppose so. We had to go through so many things that now...I'm afraid that everything will be ruined again."

He reached out to kiss her, but she pulled away.

"Patrick, we are on the street."

"It is only a kiss, Shelagh. It's love, don't be afraid of love."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"You are incorrigible."

She stood on tiptoe and gave him a small kiss on the lips.

"Shelagh, don't be afraid. We are together, and together we are going to help each other. You told me yourself."

"Yes." She touched his chest, adjusted his tie. "We can do anything together, can't we?"

"Yes, my love."

/

Timothy looked at him with tears in his eyes. He felt his heart shatter but he held out his arms to him anyway.

"Come on son, you can do it. Just walk to me."

"It hurts, Dad!"

The boy took two steps with the new devices that the doctors were trying to adapt to his legs.

"Just a little more." He swallowed.

He did this with Tim when he was a baby taking hesitant steps, but those little steps were accompanied by giggles. Now his son was older, and his pain destroyed him.

Timothy took two more steps before bursting into tears. Patrick stood up and hugged him, assuring him that everything was fine.

Already in bed, Tim seemed calmer but his tears continued in silence.

Shelagh entered looking at her watch.

"Sorry I'm late...What happened?"

"I'm sorry, I can't do it, and if I can't you won't get married!"

Timothy was crying again and Patrick stood up, but Shelagh was already hugging his son and kissing his hair.

"Oh boy, you can't say that. We will get married and we will be very happy. You just have to try a little more."

"But it hurts!"

"I know, love, it is because your body has already forgotten how to move, you must teach it. This was the first time, there will be more and every day you will improve a little. There is no rush, I am not going anywhere."

"You really won't go? Won't you go back to the convent?"

"No, I will stay here, with you."

Shelagh kissed Timothy's forehead and he seemed calmer. Patrick watched them continue to hold each other, until Tim sighed wearily, dropping his head on Shelagh's shoulder.

"Do you want to sleep?" She said rubbing his back. The boy agreed. "Very well, we will put you to bed and you will sleep a little."

"I made you a drawing." He murmured before falling asleep.

"Then you give it to me." She kissed Tim's forehead again and stood up, looking at Patrick. "Poor thing."

"He will improve, I know." Patrick approached, kissed his son and tucked him. He took Shelagh's arm and together they left.

"I don't want him to continue feeling guilty." She said.

"Miss!" A boy called her from one of the beds. She quickly approached, smiling.

"Hello Ed, how are you?"

"Fine, this is for you." The boy extended a red card in the shape of a heart. Patrick looked at him, wanted to yell at him but the boy had the decency to look terribly embarrassed.

"Oh, thank you very much, Ed!"

/

"Patrick, is just a child."

He looked at her. They were sitting on a bench near the river, having ice cream. She was still laughing at his reaction when the embarrassed boy gave her his entire declaration of love in the form of a handmade card.

"Besides, recognize his bravery, it only took him one letter to tell me he loves me. Not like others...certain...doctors…"

"Shelagh the boy is ten years old!"

She let out a loud laugh.

"And you're jealous of him!"

"It's just…Stop it."

It was silly, but he was obfuscated. He was the one who always observed Shelagh, he was the one who took care of the perfect work of art that she was. Why was a simple child looking at her now too? And it wasn't just that child. He was sure they were also the parents of the other children, the doctors, all the men who now seemed to notice her at every step she took. He hated them.

Shelagh was still wearing muted colors and wide shapes, but he knew that over time, her confidence would grow and she would wear the dresses that Trixie or any modern girl wore. He would not say no, he would love to see her dressed like this, showing every curve he could only imagine for now. But it wouldn't be just him, everyone would look at her. And she was his. He had earned her with time and patience.

He glanced at her, she sucked on the ice cream, even laughing at him. He approached and kissed her deeply and carelessly, all teeth and tongue, she complained but he did not care. He was tired of seeing her tongue pass by that silly ice cream, and seeing her being admired even by precocious children, and tired of not being able to kiss her because they were always in public. And besides, he was tired of not being married to her so he could do everything he wanted to her.

"Patrick!" She shoved him away with a push to his chest. She was frowning, her angry eyes looking at him almost with contempt.

It was like receiving a bucket of cold water. This time she was angry and she was right.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get air and calm down. She stood up, walked to the nearest trash can, and tossed her ice cream there.

"You ruined it, and you also ruined your shirt because it's all dirty with chocolate ice cream." She said through her teeth, without even looking at him, sitting down again with her back straight and her eyes fixed in front. "Can we go? I'm tired."

She was far from the sweet and quiet Shelagh that she always was. Her entire face and movements were those of Sister Bernadette when she was furious and could not express it openly. He saw her take off her glasses and clean them with her handkerchief to put them back on with a grimace of annoyance.

"Patrick, are we leaving or not?" Her voice was like ice.

"I'm sorry." He swallowed, looking for other words to say, but couldn't find them. "Shelagh, I'm so sorry."

If he continued like this, things would go wrong. He wanted Shelagh to be strong and independent, but if he got entangled in stupid jealousy and catastrophic thoughts, she would drift further and further away from him, seeking her own freedom.

"Shelagh, I'm sorry." He reached for her hand and squeezed it, but she didn't answer, just continued to look at the river. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have been like this, we were just joking and...I shouldn't have kissed you like that when you clearly didn't want to. I just...Shelagh, sometimes my head thinks terrible things. Things such as that you are going to leave me, that I don't deserve you nor am I enough for you...You are beautiful, and it is and will inevitably be that everyone loves you, admires you or desires you…"

"Patrick, don't say that nonsense…"

"It's not nonsense, it's the truth. And I know I shouldn't think about those things, I should just think that you love me and I love you. I am sorry."

She sighed and squeezed his hand, this time looking at him.

"You are very silly sometimes. I'm not going anywhere, and while I like and amused that you're a little jealous or possessive, you don't need to go overboard. It is also not necessary that you hide me from all men, I know how to take care of myself, you know it well, you have known me for years."

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry, really. Sometimes I talk or do things without thinking, I will change that so as not to hurt you."

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

"Look how you stained that shirt." She said running her fingers over the ice cream stain. "Let's go home, take it off and I'll wash it, mm?"

"As you want, my love." He gave her a small kiss on the cheek, she smiled standing up, tugging on his hand to start walking.


	18. Chapter 18

_This is the last chapter of this story (for now) there is one that will definitely be classified as M but I don't know if you want it, tell me in the comments!_

_For a while I won't be writing any more fanfics, I will finish my other story, "The Wrong Road" and then I will use my time to finish a couple of original stories that I have. Quarantine is not enough to do everything I want!_

_Thank you all for reading and for your amazing words and support. I hope you are all well, please stay safe!_

/

XVIII

Patrick leaned back in the car, looking out at the open field in front of him as he smoked.

He had just left flowers for Marianne. It had been a long time since he "visited" her but suddenly he wanted to speak to the marble plaque with her name engraved. He knew she was not there, his vibrant and active wife could never be in a lonely gray place like a cemetery. Marianne lived in the wildflowers, in the cold wind, in the dry leaves that danced, in every song she sang and every note on the piano that she played for hours. Marianne was in Timothy's eager and happy smile, who would return home that same afternoon, leaving weeks of hospital and pain behind.

She was inside Patrick, and would continue to be there, because her name was not an open wound, but a happy memory that would remain forever.

He did not believe in anything, religion had ceased to be an imposed thing in childhood and God faded throughout his life, but he firmly believed in Marianne. Not that he spoke to her, but he felt her presence.

She would have kicked him out to marry Shelagh. She would have forced him to do it a long time ago, he was sure of that. Shelagh would have been her favorite person if Marianne had only known her as Shelagh and not as the little nun she met a few times. They were both alike and completely different at the same time, how different was everything he felt for them. Marianne was gone, she had been a beam of light that passed through his life and went out, while Shelagh was the present and the future, the solidity and form of love that he would protect with all his strength.

He did not ask permission to his dead wife, he just went to that place to be silent, reflect, say two or three things to the wind, and thank her because Timothy was fine. And for having put love on his way again.

When he finished his cigarette, checked the time. It was still a long time before Tim had his medical discharge, so he decided to meet Shelagh and have some time alone with her before his boy capitalized all her attention.

The thought that the three of them would be home that night made his heart jump.

He parked in front of Chummy's house, smiling like a fool, thinking of surprising Shelagh, who like almost every afternoon spent time with the nurses, finalizing details of the wedding. After so much fear and sadness surrounding Shelagh like a heavy cloud obscuring her smile, seeing her share moments with those people she believed hated her simply filled his heart with joy. She deserved that love and affection, she deserved to be the center of attention of those women who were and remained her family.

When he knocked on the door, he expected to find the big nurse Noakes, or her husband.

"Oh, you, what do you want?"

He never expected to find Sister Evangelina. He swallowed, feeling like a child in front of the school principal after making a prank. Before his brain could process what was happening and give the orders to run away, the nun screamed into the house.

"It's Turner!"

It did not go unnoticed that she removed the title of "doctor".

"Oh, Patrick!"

He forgot everything when he saw her beautiful love surprised to see him "What are you doing here? There are still a few hours to six, we cannot take Timothy before that time. Something happened?"

Her concern quickly blossomed and he stroked her cheek.

"Nothing happened, calm down. I thought about looking for you and spending time together. If you're not too busy, of course."

"We were just chatting, wait a second, I'm going for my coat."

She came in and he heard the giggles from the nurses. He felt his ears burning, and wanted to leave immediately. He knew that he would be the object of intense scrutiny of many pairs of female eyes.

Shelagh reappeared putting on her coat, still smiling. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair a little messy. She looked adorable, just to see her like that, was worth being studied by all those women.

He opened the car door for her as he saw Nurse Flanklin leaning against the door of the house, trying to hide a giggle.

"Bye Shelagh, bye doctor!"

Shelagh answered her greeting but he was already inside the car, trying to escape from that place.

"What was Sister evangelina doing there?" He asked

"Freddie is a little sick, it's just a cold, but she came with the excuse of seeing him because his mother and father are very busy. We all know that what she wanted was to see what we were doing and how we prepared the wedding." She laughed.

"What I least expected was to meet her today. That woman wants to kill me every time she sees me."

"It's not that bad Patrick." She was still laughing, clearly mocking him.

"You say it because it's not you she wants to kill. She sees me as a thief. I just hope she doesn't know how to handle weapons."

"Probably she learned, in the war." Shelagh was still blushing on her cheeks, having fun with his situation, "Patrick, where are we going?"

"Sincerely, I don't know." He laughed too, "I just wanted to spend time with you."

"What do you have here?"

She reached for the box he was carrying in the back seat of the car. He forgot to leave it at home.

"It's just...my suit."

"For the wedding?" Her eyes widened and she immediately took the box and resting it on her lap began to open it.

"Shelagh, don't see it."

"I must verify that it is not a horrible color. Also, it is not bad luck that I see your clothes. Oh it's so pretty!" She exclaimed, caressing the fabric, "You will look very handsome in it."

She had bitten her lower lip while looking at the clothes and he had to try to calm down and take a breath. It was only a month away and that was incredibly far when he had Shelagh by his side.

He stopped the car near the river.

"Do you want to drink coffee?"

"No Patrick, I want to be outdoors." She started coughing and he became desperate. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to get her out of Chummy's warm house and bring her into that unpleasant afternoon.

"Put on my coat." He wrapped her in it, and she smiled, her eyes filled with memories. He kissed her sweetly on the lips, and felt her smile.

"Let's go out, I want to walk a little." She said, already opening the door.

He followed her one step further, simply admiring her beautiful figure. The coat was huge but with her hair down and her smile that seemed to be continuously installed in her mouth while she looked at the river, she was a perfect image.

She stopped and turned to look at him and take his hand. He smiled at the gesture, she seemed so free and calm to be able to do it without restrictions, but immediately he was worried to feel her a little cold, and heard her cough again.

"Shelagh, are you fine?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry."

They walked for a few minutes in silence, simply enjoying each other's company. Then they sat down on a bench.

"Do you want to eat something?"

She shook her head, then brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. She raised her eyes, looking at him with a smile.

"How are the wedding preparations going?" He wrapped a lock of hair in his finger, placed it behind her ear. Shelagh's smile widened.

"Very well, almost ready."

"And I suppose I can't comment on anything."

"Absolutely." She touched his nose with a finger, laughing, "This is female territory."

He simulated to complain and she smiled more, squeezing his hand. She was silent and he didn't say anything, he knew she was thinking of something. Shelagh raised her eyes to the river and then looked at him.

"Patrick, I'm very happy."

He felt a mixture of relief, emotion, pure joy. He hugged her tightly and kissed her temple.

"Oh love, it makes me happy that you are."

She pulled back a little but continued to wrap in his arms.

"I was so afraid that they didn't love me…I don't care about other people. I know all Poplar, I know a lot about the lives of Poplar and I know why they talk about the lives of others...but I was afraid that the people I love would stop loving me. The girls, the sisters, even Fred is important to me, and I was afraid that they would hate me, that they would judge me, that they would think terrible things about me."

He kissed her cheek, she hugged him tight. She stepped back a little to look him in the eye.

"I know you love me, but I'm also glad to know that the other people I love also love me."

Patrick took her face in his hands, she looked radiant.

"Shelagh, how can they not love you? Have you seen yourself, have you ever stopped to reflect on how you are? You are charming, a little angel. It is inevitable that everyone loves you."

"Patrick, I'm not like that…" She lowered her head, then looked into his eyes again, "I know you told me that many times, but I needed to check it. The girls are so sincere, I know. They are so excited, they help me with so many things. They love me, they accept me. The sisters...well, Sister Evangelina I think that in her own way she is accepting this, and Sister Monica Joan we already know that she has her days. I was worried about Sister Julienne. She is like a mother to me, and it hurt me so much, so much to lose her...

Her voice cracking, Patrick stroked her cheeks with his thumbs without releasing her face. Shelagh sniffed, closing her eyes.

"But she accepts me, Patrick. She accepts us, the two of us. She…wants to continue being by my side, and I'm so grateful for that. That is why I am so happy."

A tear ran down her cheek, and Patrick kissed it, before hugging her again. He felt her small hands around him, her smile against his chest. He sighed, feeling happy too.

He released her only to kiss her softly on the lips. She put her hand on his cheek, drawing him to kiss him more deeply, obeyed her and she let out a contented sigh. When he separated, he rested his forehead on her forehead.

"And you…are you happy?" She said shyly.

"How can I not be happy if in a month I will marry you?"

She smiled and snuggled into his chest. They were silent for a few minutes, just listening to each other's breath. He marveled at this dream come true, embracing Shelagh without prohibition, with all hopes for the future, without saying anything, just feeling her next to him.

"Patrick," she said, pulling apart a little, "When I'm with the girls we talk about things...girl things."

"Oh yes?" He looked interested.

"Yes, you know, about the dress, the hairstyle, the shoes, the...the... underwear…"

"I suppose you talked about it before Sister Evangelina arrived?"

She let out a laugh that he followed.

"Of course yes! Can you imagine her face?"

"I imagine it perfectly, my love." They continued laughing hysterically, he took the opportunity to kiss her again, and she reciprocated but then gently pushed him away. He did not take his arms from her, looking at her with interest because he knew that she wanted to tell him something else.

"The issue is…" she continued speaking, trying to look serious although her smile betrayed her, "they asked me a question that I wanted to ask you a long time ago."

He looked at her, trying to figure out something, but her face was now more serious, and she didn't dare look him in the eye. Before asking her, he let her take her time.

"They asked me if I want to have children with you. And I said yes, but I don't know if you want to have more children."

He guessed that she was preparing for his answer, for a possible "no". Her previous laugh was gone, there was only nervousness and concern. He raised her chin and looked at her.

"Shelagh, of course I want to have children with you. How many do you want? One? Two? Six? A dozen?"

The concern evaporated and there was only more joy. Shelagh giggled.

"I wouldn't dare give birth so many times!"

"They will be the ones you want, darling. I'm dying to see little Shelagh running around, or beautiful kids like you and messy like me."

"Oh no!" She clutched her head, laughing, "If they are like you they will be terrible!"

"Nothing that a good mom can't correct, and you'll be excellent at it." He kissed her on the cheek and she leaned against him.

He sighed gratefully. The idea of children once ran through his mind, but when she was still a nun. Then so many things happened and so fast that he just wanted to marry her, the rest could wait. Now he couldn't help but imagine Shelagh telling him she was pregnant, or Shelagh hugging him like this, as they stroked a small lump on her belly together, or Shelagh walking around with a big belly, or breastfeeding a little baby, teaching him words… Life with Shelagh and a little boy or girl would be delightful.

He discovered that she was looking at him while he was still lost in his imagination. She touched and caressed his cheek slowly.

"I love you very much, my Patrick."

He smiled. My Patrick. He kissed her lips softly and slowly, savoring her and feeling the warmth of her body against him.

"I love you very much, my Shelagh."

Then he cleared his throat. To touch on the topic "children" was also to touch on another subject, which he still didn't quite know how to approach. She had been reticent but then enthusiastic, curious, anxious, and her gaze always had even a wicked touch that set him on fire. But he wasn't sure how much she knew, and what he least wanted was for her to be afraid. He looked around, it was not a good place to discuss these issues, but he should take the opportunity to speak.

He took her hand and cleared his throat again.

"Shelagh...you talked about children but...I suppose you know that before... well, you should do...other things."

He never imagined that she would laugh like that, a laugh that brought tears to her eyes.

"Will you talk like this to Timothy in a few years?" She said trying to breathe, "I'm a midwife, of course I know!"

He ran his hand through his hair, not sure what to say, feeling silly. She kept laughing, drying her eyes with her hands and proclaiming that her stomach ached from laughing.

"Shelagh, look at me."

"I do. You're blushing!" Another laugh interrupted her.

"Yes, yes, I didn't broach the subject as I should have, I know. I...Can you stop laughing?"

"Yes." She said seriously, then gave another laugh, "Oh, sorry, sorry. Keep going." She crossed her arms, looking at him seriously. "Tell me what you want to know on the subject."

"Shelagh!"

She let out another laugh, some people walking turned to look at her and she covered her mouth trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing. He had no choice but to laugh with her, seeing that it would be useless to try to stop her.

"Shelagh you are terrible." He said when she seemed to calm down. "Well, tell me what you know about it."

"Patrick, I don't know anything! I was just kidding, you're talking to a former nun, of course I don't know anything."

Again more giggles, which he detected full of nerves. At least she was being honest and trusted him enough to tell him that. She was not afraid of him and that was a good sign.

"You are also a midwife, and I want to tell you that what you have heard from the mothers we serve is not true. It is not as they say. You shouldn't feel pain, nor is it an obligation."

She definitely stopped giggling. She sat up straight, looking at him a little suspiciously.

"No?"

"No, it is not like that. I don't want you to be afraid of me. I'm not a barbarian who will only force you and not care about you and what you want and feel. It will never be an obligation, it will be if you want, and if you never want, I will respect it. I will always respect you. I need you to have that security."

She nodded slowly, looking at the ground.

"All I know is what I've heard from the mothers, and prostitutes on Cable Street. And what they taught us in nursing school. Right now...I don't even know what the line is between what is sin and not, but I don't want that to be a barrier. But I also want to be a good wife to you and I know that…"

"You will be a good wife for me always, I love you and I just want you to be by my side. But it is not an obligation. It is about respect, and that it is pleasant for you."

She flushed at the word.

"Chummy told me the same thing."

"Chummy?!" He knew that women talked about these things, he did not understand why he was scandalized, but he did not expect that Chummy told her intimacies to his bride to be.

"Yes. She believed the same. Her mother...well, you know what she is like, she gave her a very strict education and filled her head with misconceptions, which Chummy later discovered were not real, at least not with Peter. He is...a good husband, according to her." Her whole face was red, and her hands were sweating. She looked down, "And I won't tell you anything else about what she told me."

"So my future wife knows what her friend's husband is like in bed."

"Patrick, don't be a beast!" She gave him a little slap on the chest, looking even more embarrassed.

"It was my turn to make you blush, darling." He kissed her cheek, and caressed it, "Seriously, I'm glad you have a friend to talk about these things, and that she advised you. Now you can also talk to me. That we talk will always make things go better between us."

A shudder ran down his skin. She was telling him everything, and he knew that over time, Shelagh would be transparent to him, because she had the will to tell him absolutely everything. He wasn't playing fair, he was hiding things from her, but those things were in the past, and he just wanted to look to the future. Keeping Shelagh out of his darkest hours would be one of his priorities.

"Shall we go for Tim?"

He shook off his thoughts and smiled.

"Yes, it's time to bring him home."

/

"Good afternoon Miss Mannion."

Patrick looked at the boy and the boy stuttered. Shelagh smiled broadly and approached the bed.

"Good afternoon, honey. Today we will take Tim, how are you?"

Patrick turned to look for his son. He did not want to continue seeing how these children went out of their way to please Shelagh. He still felt silly about it, but he couldn't help it. She seemed happy waving to each other, saying goodbye to them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that several were giving her drawings and cards that she quickly kept in her purse.

He shook off the annoyance of his own stupidity and hoped to find his son happy and anxious, but he was as upset as his father.

"I don't want to go, go away!" It was the first thing Tim said when he saw him.

"Why?"

"I want Shelagh, get out of here. Why does she greet all those idiots?"

He tried to hold back a laugh to make a serious face. He should educate his son, but he agreed with him.

"Tim, don't talk like that. Also, she's saying goodbye to them."

"Everyone likes her, I find it disgusting and offensive. I want her to marry you and they want her as a girlfriend, they are idiots!"

"Tim." He growled, "Stop saying that."

Shelagh appeared, more radiant still, but her smile faded at the sight of their faces.

"Something wrong?"

"No." They both growled.

"I will not leave!" Tim covered himself completely up to his head with the blankets.

Shelagh looked at them both again. Patrick shrugged in response.

"Tim enough scandals. Get up, we are going." Annoyed, Patrick stood up and tugged on the covers but the boy didn't move.

"Timothy." Shelagh leaned down, whispered something in the boy's ear, and he got up slowly. Patrick bent down to help him put on his shoes, but Timothy stirred, complaining and on the verge of tears.

"Timothy, stop behaving like this. You're almost a young man, you aren't a baby."

"Leave me alone!"

"Patrick, leave this to me."

He sighed and stood up. He ran his hands through his hair, watching as Shelagh handled his son's strange anger much better. He gathered Tim's things, checked that they hadn't forgotten anything, and then followed them through the hospital to the street.

When they got home, they ate in silence. He really hadn't expected something like this. He wanted his son to be happy, to eat his longed-for potato chips, and to demand gifts as he spoke nonstop. Instead, Tim barely said anything, he ate little and almost fell asleep at the table.

"I'll take him to bed." Shelagh announced and gently woke him up.

Patrick gathered the things from the table, washed them quickly and went out to his neglected garden to smoke. It was cold and the night had several stars. As he exhaled the smoke, he wondered what was going through Timothy's head and why what must have been a happy night was just a boring and uncomfortable night.

"Patrick?"

He smiled when he heard Shelagh's whisper and immediately his arms went around her to protect her from the cold.

"Let's go inside."

"No, it's better here. This garden needs a little love."

"Your love?" He raised an eyebrow and she smiled.

"Maybe."

"Shelagh, the house is yours, you can do what you want. Change the furniture, the garden, throw it down if you want. Make it yours, don't think you must respect…" He was going to say "respect Marianne's memory" but he stopped, "…my opinions. Because I don't have any, I don't know anything about home decorations."

She nodded with a slight smile.

"Thank you. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it now, there is something more important. Patrick, don't be hard on Tim. He is angry, you must have patience."

"What did he say?"

"He believed he would walk out of the hospital. He hates his legs, he thinks everyone will laugh at him for his calipers. He needs care and that infuriates him, and I know very well that he wants his mother for that."

Patrick pressed the cigarette hard against the bricks on the wall.

"But you…"

"I know what you're going to say." She cut him off, "He loves me, and I love him. But I'm not his mother, and he's having a hard time. Please don't scold him, he's just angry. I guess it will happen as he gets excited about the wedding."

He put an arm around her and kissed her forehead.

"I didn't know all that, I'll be understanding with him, don't worry. Thank you."

She smiled widely.

/

The weeks flew by.

Tim was still mad at his own body, but at least he practiced at home, and he didn't direct all his fury at his father. Shelagh had a lot to do with it, they didn't live under the same roof, but she practically spent all day there, talking to the boy, helping him, cooking and playing with him.

The house began to fill with flowers, both real and those of her dresses that populated the closet, taking away the space from Patrick's old rags.

"Is everything ready?"

"Patrick, you scared me!" She exclaimed. He had just surprised her by keeping in the closet what he supposed would be her last clothes missing, considering that there were only two days left for the wedding.

"I didn't think you were so focused. These dresses are very pretty."

"The girls helped me choose them. They are practical dresses" She replied looking at the various fabrics, "I should use more colors and patterns, but I still don't know what is most appropriate. There is so much to see and choose, I don't even know what I like or what looks good on me."

She seemed clouded by that, so he put his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder.

"All in time, my love. No need to run."

She smiled a little, still looking at the clothes and doubting them.

"You say the same to Tim."

"At a certain point, you are similar. Stubborn, anxious, you occupy all the spaces with your things…"

She laughed a little and turned in his arms. He stared at her without saying anything, just lost in her blue eyes. He leaned down and kissed her softly, he felt her arms around his neck, sticking closer to him. He opened his mouth to kiss her more deeply and she sighed contentedly. Two days and she would definitely be here, in his room, in his bed, and he could kiss her without having to constantly appeal to his self-control.

Well, if he had to, he would.

But he doubted it was necessary.

Shelagh was timidly running her fingers through his hair, but her entire body was totally glued to his and her tongue drove him crazy. Without warning, she bit his lower lip and he gave a low, surprised moan. She separated. She was looking at him temptingly, satisfied to try and discover something new about what she could do to him with her mouth.

She laughed at the sight of his face.

"Will you always keep your mouth open every time I do something?"

"You always surprise me." He smiled, and kissed her again, calmer this time.

"My love," he said separating and taking her elbows, "in two days we will be married. I can't wait."

"Neither do I." She smiled, "And I'm also a little sad because tomorrow I won't see you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Tomorrow?"

"You can't see me the day before the wedding!"

"Oh, I didn't remember that."

"Please don't cheat, don't sneak anywhere to see me. We need to have the luck on our side."

"I didn't know that you're superstitious."

"I'm not, but there are traditions that are respected." She stretched out on her feet to give him a little kiss, "Now I have to go."

He left her quietly at home. They timidly said goodbye, knowing that the next time they saw each other, it would be in church.

When he got home, he found Tim was sleeping, and looked for paper. He sat down at the table, and began to write. The last time he did this, he was putting his whole heart into it and now he was doing it again, this time with more hope, more happiness.

It wouldn't be the last letter, he was sure. But it would be the last in a series of crazy and desperate letters that he ever had the courage to write and send.

"My dear love:

I just left you at your house and I already miss you, so I decided to write, knowing that tomorrow I won't be able to see you and I'll only think of you. When I see you again, we will be in church, getting married and uniting our lives forever. I never thought that this would happen, in fact, I never thought that you would ever look at me as more than a colleague, but here we are.

I must confess that for a while everything in you caught my attention. You were always different, what you were did not prevent you from standing out among all people. Your good soul, your enormous heart, your calm voice, everything in you began to accelerate my pulse although I did not realize it. I began to observe you, to notice every detail of you. I said to myself that it was just that, to observe, to admire someone who deserved to be admired. I don't know at what point everything changed. Maybe I was always in love with you, there was always that love in me and it just needed a little more attention to make it explode.

What I do know is that you make me happy. You always have, and I know that if you hadn't changed your life, I would still be happy just observing you from afar, knowing the wonderful person you are.

Your love saved me, and I will be grateful for that always. Thank you for accepting me, thank you for making a home for me in your heart, thank you for loving me and calling me that day that I found you on the road.

Now we will get married, we will live together. I know I can be cranky, messy, grumpy. I will try to change all that, I promise that I will give you the best life, I will do everything so that you never regret your decision.

I love you, you are everything to me.

See you at the altar.

Your Patrick."

/

"Don't even dream of seeing her, doctor."

Trixie Franklin stood with her arms crossed at Chummy's door and seemed unperturbed. The housewife leaned out.

"She's not even here!"

He wanted to do a tantrum like Tim, but he stopped himself.

"You don't need to lie to me, I know Shelagh is here. I didn't come to see her, I just want you to give her this." He extended the envelope, neither of the two nurses made the slightest gesture to take it.

"Communication is not allowed either." Chummy ruled.

"She is not in jail!" He complained, "It's only a letter! Take it and I'll go."

"A letter?" He heard Shelagh's voice and instinctively craned his neck to see her.

"No!" Trixie and Chummy stretched further, expanding their strength.

"Shelagh you can't see him, it's bad luck!" Chummy said.

"But he brought a letter, I want to read it."

Patrick smiled. She was eager for a new letter from him. He held out the envelope again, Trixie took it.

"Oh, isn't it romantic?" Trixie said, but he had already escaped the giggles.

He walked home, he needed to distract his nerves, but knew he would not. Nor would he sleep that night.

He realized that as he walked his face hurt from smiling, and that his cheerful voice handed out greetings and thanks to all those who wished him luck and congratulations.

He really was a happy man.

When he got home, he set out to give the last details. He wanted everything to be in order by the time Shelagh settled in the house the next day. He put the train tickets in a drawer for the honeymoon trip he had planned. They would go to Torquay, and it was a surprise. Shelagh would arrive the next day believing it would be the first of many days living there, but she was wrong. There would be a week of travel, walks on the beach, and breakfasts in a nice hotel. He hoped she wasn't mad at not warning her, but he was sure she would gladly accept it. She had mentioned that she would like to visit that place someday, and he had put his savings to give her that surprise.

The doorbell rang and puzzled, he opened the door. He had no patients, he had taken a day off so as not to be needed until the last moment.

"Good afternoon doctor." Sister Julienne's kind smile greeted him.

"Good afternoon, sister. Is it something wrong?"

"No, I'm here to visit. Can I enter?"

He stepped aside and she entered. He trembled a little, Sister Julienne was like a mother to Shelagh and he had never adequately discussed his intentions with the woman.

"Can I offer you tea? Or coffee?"

"No, thanks Patrick." She smiled. He felt a little awkward at the mention of his name, she had only said his name when Marianne was hopelessly ill, and then when she died and he felt desperate.

Sister Julienne sat on the sofa, not waiting for him to invite her to do so. He sat across from her.

"I don't want to steal time. I just came to talk about Shelagh."

He swallowed hard, things were getting weirder, but the nun smiled and reached out to take his.

"Nothing is wrong, don't worry. I just wanted to tell you we are happy with this wedding. I have never seen Shelagh happier, she really seems like someone else."

"She makes me very happy too, and I'm relieved that she can turn to her friends and especially to you."

"Yes, there were strange days, but that is over. It is wonderful how God worked and brought together two souls as beautiful as yours. I already talked to her, several times, but with you I couldn't. I want you to take care of her, and to take much care of her love. She is special to me. And I know she loves with all her heart."

"I know, sister. I promise I will, thanks for your words. She makes me happy, she completes me. I will take care of her, both in her health and in everything. Don't worry."

The nun smiled and stood up.

"Tomorrow we will be there to accompany you in your happiness."

"Thank you, sister."

"I want to congratulate you on Timothy too. I have seen how he is progressing and it is incredible."

"The one responsible is Shelagh."

The woman smiled, with a "I knew it already" smile.

Then as soon as she had arrived, she was gone.

/

Indeed, that night he slept little and nothing. He got up early, there was no point in tossing and turning in bed. He wanted to get out right now and marry her.

Tim got up early too, talked nonstop, and he was mentally grateful for that because he couldn't get a word out of his mouth. His hands trembled and he thought what a disaster it would be if at the time of putting the ring on Shelagh, it fell off and rolled off.

However, he had room in his mind to notice that something was wrong with Timothy. He deduced what his sad and uncomfortable face was from, so he placed a bottle of Brylcreem before his son. That would cheer him up, and in fact it did. Timothy was worried about what people were thinking about him, and Patrick was happy to share this last moment of father and son alone helping him overcome his fears.

When they got to church, Tim had forgotten his fears and was the best man every groom would want.

"Dad, you are not breathing, you will faint!"

"Oh, really?" He let out a sigh, his son was right. Nerves were eating away at the basic functions of his body. Timothy just rolled his eyes.

"Behave yourself, don't make me feel ashamed."

It sounded like revenge for the many times he scolded him the same way. That made him laugh and loosen up his body a little. He looked at his son, struggling to show that he had mastered the calipers, and nerves gave way to pride. It was logical to feel anxious when he was about to enter a new life, with a new family with wonderful people like Timothy and Shelagh.

He swallowed at the enormity of what was about to happen and gave a tight smile and several nods to the priest's words. He had no idea what he was saying but thanked him.

He looked everywhere, the church was illuminated by the sunny and therefore strange Saturday morning and little by little the seats were filling with familiar faces that greeted him from afar.

He turned to face the altar, trying to spend a few seconds alone with his mind and with God. He still doubted its existence, but somehow he had to thank God, or the universe, or whoever presided over and decided the destinies of humans, for giving him this moment he was living. He did not know what he had done in this or another life, but something was too good to be rewarded with this gift.

Suddenly he knew that she had arrived. He knew it before feeling the tug Tim gave him, before hearing how people stood up. He just knew that she was there, meters from him. He closed his eyes when the organ music started playing and then slowly turned around.

He never imagined Shelagh like this. He imagined her in a thousand different ways, but never in a white dress. Perhaps because he did not know anything about dresses or fashion, or perhaps because he never dared to imagine such beauty and happiness.

When he saw her, he knew that if he had tried to imagine her, nothing would have compared to this. She walked confidently towards him, with a smile brighter than the sun, accompanied by her bridesmaids who honestly he did not even know who they were. His eyes were only fixed on her, trying to deduce if it was a dream, if it was reality, or if he had died and was being visited by an angel.

She stood in front of him, the veil doing nothing to cover her bright blue eyes. When he pulled it away, he met her, her face open and confident, and took her hand, warm and nervous but sure.

Everything happened quickly and at the same time very slowly. His nerves had vanished as soon as he had Shelagh by his side, and he didn't hear much from the ceremony either, he was focused on burning this perfect image of her in his mind to treasure it forever, just like her sweet but firm voice when she accepted this.

When he was finally able to kiss her, it felt like being in paradise. He would give her better and not so quick and chaste kisses, but this one was special. She was his wife, and he was hers, forever. This little blonde figure dressed in white and with a face full of smiles, loved him. This beautiful woman, full of kindness and sweetness, had agreed to spend her life with him. And now everyone was watching it. There was no longer any need to hide, to fear divine punishment, to feel sad and dirty for thinking about her. All those loved ones witnessed this, and they loved, accepted, and applauded them.

/

"Give me your hand."

Shelagh tugged on him and he followed her. It was a delight to see her in her wide white dress that marked her slender figure. She seemed comfortable in it as she waved and walked around the reception.

He knew that she would be overwhelmed by all the greetings and hugs, and she was, but soon the shyness and shame of the beginning vanished and now there was this Shelagh who laughed and moved with ease and charm, enjoying being the center of attention of their reception. Patrick lost count of the number of photos that had been taken and Shelagh was delighted with that, it seemed she wanted to take photos even with Poplar's dogs.

"Where are you taking me?" He asked when he saw that they were moving away from the group of people laughing and drinking alcohol.

"I just wanted to talk to you a bit, we couldn't do it."

She said it timidly, lowering her head. He looked everywhere, they were in a remote and dark corner and nobody seemed to notice yet that the couple had disappeared. He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently.

"You're beautiful. And you look so happy."

She smiled, raised a hand to caress one of his cheeks.

"I am. And you're also very handsome."

"Thanks, love. The dress is perfect for you."

She looked at the skirt, smiling and gently touching it.

"I love it. I'll use it every day."

He laughed and then kissed her more deeply this time.

"I'll be delighted to see my bride every day." He said separating.

"I read your letter. Thank you, it is very beautiful...I learned it by heart."

"Someday you will have to answer all those letters I sent you."

She laughed, shaking her head. Then she stood on tiptoe to kiss him and took his hand.

"They will realize that we left. Let's Dance."

Her laughter as they spun filled his head, as did her scent when she laid her head on his chest and let herself be rocked by the music. He closed his eyes, forgetting that everyone was here. Shelagh was here, he had her on his chest, he was taking her waist and her hand.

And best of all, she was happy. He was making her happy. Her smile, her eyes full of light, her tinkling laugh, all that joy she deserved now she had it, he had managed to give it to her. Taking a deep breath, he prayed that she would be happy like this at all times, that no sadness or worry would tarnish her smile.

"Doc, I want to dance with the bride too."

Fred brought him out of his thoughts and again Shelagh's giggle, letting herself be carried away by Fred who was clearly a better dancer than him. He saw her laugh and chat with him. He smiled, who knows what the good man would be saying to her.

Then she released herself from Fred's arms when she saw Tim, who timidly approached and only danced two beats and then hugged her waist. She whispered something in his ear and the boy nodded smiling.

His chest swelled again with pride at the little boy. Tim had played with his friends, unable to follow them correctly, but Patrick had not glimpsed any sadness or frustration. Timothy seemed elated by everything around him.

"Your aura is full of light!"

He turned and saw Sister Monica Joan, her hands clasped and her eyes filled with tears. A big smile adorned her face.

"Eh…thanks?"

"Oh yes, you have so much good energy!" The woman took him by the arm and led him to sit next to her, "Before there was only gray and now you have light!"

"I feel it, sister." He agreed.

"But you must take care of her. You take a valuable young woman. But the stars have told me that there will be happiness and understanding!"

"Thank you, sis…" But the nun was already standing, delighted following the cake that had to be cut.

Smiling, he approached Shelagh, her cheeks were red and her breathing was shaky.

They cut the cake and ate it, then, because he was already married to her and she laughed more for the champagne bubbles, he kissed her carelessly. He thought that she would move away but she didn't, on the contrary, pressed more against him and tasted the sweetness of the cake and his mouth.

"I think it's time for us to go home." She whispered, her cheeks redder still.

"I couldn't agree more. Let's leave all these people celebrating in our honor."

She barely laughed, and held on to his arm while still looking him in the eye. Her gaze was sweet and full of love, but also full of anxiety and urgency.

"I want to be with you, Patrick."

He kissed her gently and smiled at her, unable to believe that she was asking this of him.

"So, let's go home now."


	19. Chapter 19

_**Hi beautiful people! I am here again with this chapter, which is definitely M. So if you don't feel comfortable, don't read it, and if you like to read this kind of thing, go ahead!**_

_**Thank you very much for reading this story, for now I will finish it here, but perhaps in a while I will return with more. There is so much to write about Turnadette, and I love them so much!**_

XIX

Patrick would never tire of hearing her laugh. He felt that his mission in life was accomplished if Shelagh laughed.

He entered the house with her in his arms, who had given a little cry of surprise but had not resisted, on the contrary, she hugged his neck and he could smell her scent of flowers and cake.

Patrick lowered her from his arms and stared at her. She kept laughing, her cheeks red from the heat, the laughter, the shyness, and the alcohol of the party.

"Patrick, it wasn't necessary such a show of force."

"Show of force? If you weigh less than a feather! Look!" He lifted her in his arms again, she shook her feet, laughing out loud.

"Put me down now!" She ordered and he obeyed and bowed to her.

"What you order, Mrs Turner."

She laughed again, shaking her head.

"You are crazy."

"Yes, crazy about you."

Shelagh raised her arms to hug his neck, but he pulled away.

"I must close the door, I'll be back."

He walked to the door and closed it, and opened the drawer of the small telephone table. From there he extracted the gift he had bought for her.

He returned to the living room, Shelagh walked around, spinning, shaking the skirt of her long dress a little, visibly enchanted by the fabric and the movement of it. She turned when she heard him approach.

"This is for you."

She looked at the package, it was wrapped in bright blue paper and had a rather extravagant silver bow.

"For me? What is it?"

"If you don't open it you won't know."

"But...I didn't buy you a gift." She looked up at him, there he saw concern. He reached out a hand and rested it on her girdled waist, lowered it up and down a fraction of an inch, trying to calm her down.

"Honey, you don't have to buy me anything. I saw this and thought it would look nice on you. Also you have already given me many gifts."

She smiled sheepishly, untied the bow and pushed the paper away. She frowned when she found the white box, but her expression changed completely when she opened it.

"Patrick!" She exclaimed when she saw a shiny choker.

"If you don't like it you can...choose something else."

"No, no, it's beautiful." She caressed the necklace and the velvet that surrounded it carefully, "It is...beautiful."

"I thought it would look great on your neck, so fine and delicate." He leaned down to kiss her there, at the base of her neck, next to her shoulder. It was a quick kiss but when he separated she looked at him nervously.

He wrapped his hands around her thin waist and this time he kissed her again but for a longer time, opening his mouth and going up behind her ear, running his tongue to savor her. She squirmed a little, but didn't pull away.

He parted, she continued with the box in her hand, her face was serious but covered in blush.

"Th...thanks." She stammered and he couldn't help but laugh. He took the box and carefully removed the choker.

"Can you turn around?" He asked and she obeyed, pushing her hair aside so that he could place and fasten the fine jewel. However, Patrick kissed her exposed neck, she gave a small complaint in surprise, but he held her against him with one hand on her waist.

"Sorry, you are exquisite." He whispered in her ear. He pulled away when he heard neither a giggle nor a word, "Shelagh?"

She turned slowly. Her eyes were scared like those of a small deer.

"I'm so sorry." He said, realizing that he had been carried away by his actions, a little barbaric for her. He was nervous and dizzy from her beauty and from the circumstances, but she would be twice as nervous as he was, and he wasn't helping her.

He extended his hand, she took it squeezing it.

"I'm sorry." He repeated again, "I don't want to scare you."

"You don't scare me, Patrick. I...I don't know how to answer that. To what you do. I don't know how to respond to your caresses, your beautiful words, your tender gestures. I don't want you to think that I'm cold, or worse, that I'm a fool."

"Shelagh you are neither," he left the choker in its box on the sofa, and squeezed both hands on her shoulders, "Look, I need you to listen to me well. Today nothing will happen that you don't want. I have already told you that it is not an obligation, that I'll respect you and we will always respect each other."

"But...I…" She bit her lower lip, looking at the ground, and shaking her head.

"What happens? Are you afraid?"

"No Patrick, I just don't know what to do. I spent a lot of time suppressing everything, I studied for that. No displays of affection beyond a few words of encouragement to mothers, or nonsense for babies."

"But darling, you've come a long way in this time. At first you could barely look me in the eye," she smiled, looking at him, "And you will continue to do so. I'll help you to no longer suppress anything. What you want to do, you will do. You are free, my love."

Shelagh smiled more broadly at his words and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. He sighed, pleased that he had made her feel better.

"Shelagh, I love you," he whispered in her ear, he felt her tighten her grip when listening to him,"I feel absolute love for you, and because I love you I will never think that you are stupid or cold, or anything else bad. I love all of you, I loved you before, when I hardly knew you, I loved you in these difficult months, I loved you this morning in church, I loved you while you were laughing and dancing at the party and I love you much more at this moment."

She parted to look at him, one hand fitting her glasses over her seemed so tender to him that he couldn't resist kissing the tip of her nose, which made her laugh.

"Thank you, Patrick," she said holding his face with both hands, "You're the kindest and most handsome man in the world."

"Oh well, thanks for those compliments."

She laughed a little more and he kissed her on the lips, just a little kiss like the one he gave her on the nose, but she did not let him go, she pressed one of her hands on his neck, to prevent him from separating. Her lips moved over his, calm and savoring him and he let her kiss him as she pleased.

He ran his hands behind her back, each finger hooking the row of small white buttons that ran down her spine. He felt everything inside him tremble with emotion. He had married this perfect woman who now hugged him still dressed in her beautiful white dress.

He left her lips to look at her, she returned her hands to his face. He looked at her closely, looking for any hint of fear, reluctance, or perhaps regret. But Shelagh's eyes were clear from her brilliance and dark from anxiety about what was to come.

He remembered the first times he noticed her. How on any given day he realized how young and intelligent she was, how she had enchanted him with her voice, her curious blue eyes, her exact words, the firmness of her hands and her character. How he had become obsessed with a little nun destined not to be noticed, and how she unknowingly found him when he was most hurt.

He took a slow breath. She had cured him. She had rescued him from his worst self, to make him the happiest man in the world. And kind and handsome, according to her. He smiled, and she raised an eyebrow.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, I was just remembering how I fell in love with you."

She smiled widely.

"I also thought the same," she lowered her hands to his arms, looking at his chest, "It was very hard and painful, but it was worth it."

She turned her eyes to him, smiling.

"Turn around, I'll put the necklace on you."

"No," she said abruptly, then looked at his lips, "No, Patrick. Could it be later? Your gift is beautiful, don't think badly."

"Of course not, darling. Something happens?"

A mischievous smile appeared. He swallowed, wishing and fearing what she was going to say. She released his arms but took one of his hands.

"You said…" she let out a shaky breath, "You said you would help me not to suppress me anymore."

"Yes," he squeezed her hand, a little concerned. She looked at him.

"Well...I'd like to go upstairs."

"Of...of course," he agreed, completely full of sudden nerves. He thought the roles had been reversed, because now Shelagh was climbing the steps confidently while he felt his throat dry and repeated that he had to control himself.

"Shelagh," he managed to say. She stopped, looking over her shoulder at him. Her gaze was impatient and that dug deeper into his nerves, "Don't... you want to drink something?"

"No, Patrick," she said smiling, her face telling him that she knew perfectly well about his nerves. She went up two more steps, tugging on him,"I already drank a lot at the party."

He saw her take a breath before taking the last step towards the bedroom, and when she stopped, he almost tripped over her dress, causing her to giggle hysterically and nervously. He joined her giggle as he opened the door.

She followed him and watched him close the door. He took one of her hands and brought it to his lips. When he released her, Shelagh was smiling at him wistfully.

"Shelagh, you decide," he heard his own voice sound low and a little distant. She nodded and approached him, running her hands over his shoulders.

"Yes," she whispered, before kissing him. He wrapped around her waist, feeling her demanding lips on his, but trying to be a certain distance from her body. However, Shelagh pressed against him, opening her fingers to caress the nape of his neck and his hair, scratching a bit, making him moan when he felt her nails.

Her tongue invaded his mouth and he let out another surprised moan, and felt her smile against him. He decided to give himself up to her, he wanted everything to be special to her and the best way to do that was to let her set the pace, and Shelagh definitely wanted to go fast.

He felt his body begin to respond and forced himself to part from her lips, trying to find air and a little more time. She tried to kiss him again, but he pulled away a little, smiling at her and running his hands down her back, up and down.

"What happens? Did I do something wrong?" she asked, frowning.

"Honey you couldn't do something wrong even if you wanted to."

Her mischievous smile reappeared but she parted from his arms.

"I'll change my clothes," she announced.

"Change your clothes?"

"Yes," again she frowned, "What?"

"Why would you change your clothes?" He brought his hands back to her waist, drawing her closer to him. He saw that she blushed a lot when trying to give an explanation.

"It's...I'm in my dress and…"

"The dress will not break or get dirty, calm down."

"I...It's just that...The girls bought me something. For tonight," her blush was more intense now and he tried not to laugh.

"I'll be happy to see it, but later. Because now…" he turned her in his hands, so that she had her back to him. There he brought his mouth to her neck, pushing her hair back, "Now, I want to take this dress off of you myself."

He heard her take a sharp breath, saw her tremble a little.

"Unless you don't want to."

"Yes," she looked over his shoulder at him, emphasizing with a tilt of her head.

He took the first button, the one closest to her neck. He began to slide it gently.

"Yes?"

She nodded again. Her chest rose and fell, and he too had to take a deep breath to calm himself.

When he finished with the first button, he placed a small kiss. He heard her breathe shakily.

Then he slid the next button, and each of them with the same patience, leaving kisses in the places they used to occupy on her spine, kisses increasingly prolonged and wet. When he reached her low waist, Shelagh's shaky breaths were replaced by a small moan. Patrick put his hands around her waist, moved them up her back, wrapped her shoulders. He felt her relax against his hands. He rested his chin on one of her shoulders.

"Do you feel good?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied with a sigh, calmer this time.

He lowered the delicate lace sleeves, taking care that nothing was broken or damaged. She ended up taking them off, and he walked to stand in front of her. He held out his hand for her to take it so she stepped out of the center of the pile of cloth on the floor. She took it with a smile, carefully walking out.

"Do you want to fold it and accommodate it?" he barely said.

"No. Later."

He saw her swallow hard. Her hand in his was cold, and the skin on her neck and chest was spiky.

"Do you feel cold?" he whispered, releasing her hand but moving closer to her.

"No," she replied looking directly at him.

Patrick forced himself to focus on looking her in the eye, but it was difficult when she was so close and she was only wearing a plain, white, but shiny, soft, and very short slip.

Shelagh reached out a hand to his chest, squeezing his clothes, moving closer.

"You can look at me, Patrick. I like when you look at me."

"Yes?" He felt his breath catch. She just nodded, coming closer and reaching to kiss him. His hands traversed her waist and went to her back, where they went up and down, touching the fabric and her exposed, smooth skin.

Her kiss grew more demanding and he felt her tug at his jacket, trying to pull it off. He pulled away and let her take it from him. Her nimble fingers went down to his tie, but he stopped her, taking her wrist.

He hugged her body again, drawing her close to him, kissing her hungrily. Shelagh moaned, louder this time, and he parted his mouth from hers to travel up to her neck. She squirmed, moaned a little lower.

While one hand held her firmly at the waist, the other went up her arm to the strap of her slip, which lowered slowly leaving behind a trail of kisses on her shoulder and collarbone.

He felt his body was responding even more, he kissed her mouth and his hands pressed her hips against him, so that she felt his erection. Not only was she not scared, but she pressed herself further, biting his lower lip.

He released her as he groaned in response, and looked at her. He took a step away from her, the other strap of her slip falling off.

Patrick lowered one of his hands to her belly, slowly raised it, feeling the silkiness of the fabric and the warmth of Shelagh. He saw her bite her lower lip, her gaze following his wandering hand that rose to her chest.

He wrapped one of her breasts with his hand, completely covering it. Shelagh let out a small moan, looked up at him.

"Perfect," Patrick smiled, looking at her and squeezing a little. She looked down at her breast, and he wrapped his other hand around the other breast. He squeezed them gently, but firmly enough to get another small moan out of her, "They fit perfectly."

He kissed her neck again, and released her only to lower one of the bra straps. More flesh revealed, and he returned his hands to her waist, pulling her against him.

He kissed the upper curve of her still quite covered breast. He did it gently and delicately, heard her sigh, saw her close her eyes a little. She was relaxed and it seemed that their nerves had disappeared.

Very slowly, he ran his mouth from the curve of her breast toward the center of them, then lowered the other strap of her bra. Her skin was white and creamy, she had some small freckles. He suppressed a moan, knew that kissing her there would be one of his vices, because his tongue was finding only exquisite taste and softness.

He continued to kiss her deliberately slowly, as she felt Shelagh's hands were in his hair, squeezing it to stay there. A breathy moan came from her mouth, he looked up to see her with her lower lip hooked between her teeth, eyes closed, body relaxed and tense at the same time.

He returned to her breasts, this time lowering the fabrics that covered them with trembling hands. The slip fell completely from its light weight, and Patrick ran one of his hands behind her back, reaching for the bra clasp. She opened her eyes to look at him, the eyes were dark and her breathing was heavy. He unbuttoned the bra and removed it from her arms.

He swallowed, unable to know where to look. She blushed again, looking nervous again.

"Shelagh." His voice was a sigh, "Shelagh, you're beautiful."

He saw her swallow hard, visibly embarrassed.

"Shelagh, love, you're perfect."

He brought his hands to her waist, she passed hers through his arms.

"You're perfect," he repeated, before kissing her lips, "You're incredible," he said going down her neck, "You're mine," he pointed out, biting her neck, at her pulse point. She let out a louder, higher groan, pressing against him.

One of his hands went to her back, to lean towards him as he kissed one of her shoulders and caressed her other shoulder with his other hand. Did the same with her clavicles, and then returned to her incredible breasts, exposed and delicious. He kissed them reverently, but without approaching the nipples. He stroked them with both hands, gently, and saw her move closer to him, unconsciously, seeking more contact.

"Patrick."

He heard her whisper barely audible. He raised his eyes, looking at her captivated. He dreamed many times of hearing his name whispered by her, in the middle of the passion. None of dreams looked like that, he never imagined her tone of voice, her lips parted, her body warm and ready for him.

He kissed her hard on the mouth, pressing her against him, unable to contain himself anymore. She groaned but clung to his neck, his back, his hair, and his face, trying to bring him closer to her almost naked body.

He released her a little roughly, heading for the bed and pulling the covers aside.

The pink satin sheets he had bought shone in the half-light of dusk. He chose them because he assumed that the soft fabric and color would delight Shelagh's skin. He turned to her, standing next to him, holding on to his hand, her hair a little messy, her cheeks flushed, her gaze full of anticipation.

"Lay down," he whispered, but she touched his chest with both hands, tried to unbutton his waistcoat, but he pulled away.

"Not yet, my love, I want this to be everything for you."

"But I want this," she said, ignoring him, busy undoing his tie. He laughed a little, pulling her hand away.

"First, you."

But Shelagh didn't obey either, she reached out to kiss him, pressing her bare breasts against his still clothed torso. Then she pulled away from his mouth and down to his neck, as her hands caressed his back and his hair and the fledgling beard of his face.

He groaned loudly and low, tried to calm himself but Shelagh's lips and tongue were torturing him, nibbling at his neck gently, calming him with the wetness of her tongue. Suddenly her inexperienced but firm hands went down his chest and belly and were on his belt, tugging at it.

"Shelagh," he pulled back a little, she looked at him angrily.

"Don't you like it?"

"Of course I like it, I like it because I like you and you drive me crazy, but now I want to lay you in this bed and adore you," he took her by the arms and laid her down.

She got rid of the shoes and he sat next to her, turned on the light on the nightstand. Shelagh looked at him a little shocked, but he leaned down to kiss her gently, before she could cover her breasts with her hands.

"Let me see you."

"But Patrick…" Her voice trembled.

"Shh, I told you you're perfect," he whispered against her mouth, "I want to see you, okay?"

She barely nodded, took off her glasses, and set them on the nightstand.

He continued to look at her. He had spent months observing every detail of her, and imagining what he couldn't observe. Now he wanted this image to remain etched in his mind, he wanted to observe absolutely every corner of her exquisite body, he wanted to memorize each of her reactions, and he wanted, above all things, to carry with him forever this work of art that Shelagh was, naked in his bed, waiting for him.

He took a breath to calm himself, it was incredible everything she could do without even touching him. He felt completely in love, he felt that he was the man he loved the most on Earth. No one could love anyone as he loved Shelagh at that precise moment.

He leaned down to kiss her, she wrapped her hands around his neck, tugging at him. He watched as she twisted a little and her skin warmed, barely rubbing against the soft fabrics. He smiled to himself, knowing she was enjoying the sensations he planned for her.

He went down to her neck again, smiled when he noticed that his marks there were blooming, so he kissed them and sucked again. He heard her moan, press her hands to his head. Patrick kissed the lobe of her ear.

"You are delicious, Shelagh," he whispered there, and she moaned louder, instinctively arching toward him.

He smiled, pleased to know that she could be very vocal. The truth was, he had thought about how her whispers, gasps and moans would sound and he wanted her to be a choir of all of them tonight.

He ran his hands down her belly and across her chest, barely stroking her breasts. He noticed that the nipples were erect and pink, pleading for attention. He lowered his mouth down her chest and slowly approached one of them. When he wrapped his mouth around it he heard her run out of air.

He smiled, sucked softly, made his tongue dance on it while caressing the other breast with his fingers, pressing a little harder. Shelagh moaned sharper, her breathing becoming a little erratic. Sucking and nibbling, he moved to the other breast, barely kissed the nipple, then wrapped his lips around it, his tongue covering the little button wetting all her flesh. Shelagh moaned louder this time, clenching her hands in his hair, her hips jerking.

"Patrick!"

Again a breathy whisper, her tongue stumbling over the last letter of his name, joining it to a high moan when he decided to take her breast with more hunger, losing control a little, trying to savor her completely.

He looked up, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, her lips trembling with sighs and moans that seemed increasingly desperate. Patrick felt the sweat running down his forehead, put his feelings at bay. He was making her enjoy herself, her nerves and fears melt away to give way to pleasure.

He leaned down to kiss her parted lips, she moaned in his mouth again and he responded in the same way as he felt her small but determined hands on his hair and his neck, trying to find his skin. He had to laugh when she parted, frustrated to find only his clothes.

"Can you stop being so impatient?" he said and she just pouted.

"But Patrick…" she complained.

He smiled and kissed her again, his hands caressing her perfect breasts with light touches. He ran them down her belly, ran his fingers over the sharp edges of her hips, discovered a constellation of freckles there before which he bent down to link each one, with his tongue. Shelagh contracted in another small moan and he continued to explore her skin with his hands, trying to ignore the delicate white panties that invited him to touch them.

Shelagh raised her legs, spread them a little. He looked at her, her eyes were closed and her skin bristled everywhere.

Patrick stood up, walked to the end of the bed, rested his knees on the mattress. Shelagh opened her eyes, suddenly puzzled by his attitude. But he stroked one of her legs, kissed her inner thigh, and she bit her lip again and tightened her eyelids. Patrick stroked, barely, and began to lower her stocking. He squeezed her calf and she jumped, opening her eyes.

"These calves have been driving me crazy for a long time," Patrick said, squeezing both legs. Shelagh giggled.

"Really?"

"Yes. Your legs are awesome. And your feet, too," he kissed the instep of one of her feet, she giggled again.

"If you touch my feet, you lose," Shelagh sat up a little, leaned her back against the bedhead, away from him.

"Why?"

"I have a lot of tickles, so get your face out of there if you want to get out unharmed."

Patrick reached out, took her leg and removed the stocking, then took the foot in his hands and kissed the instep. He released her when she effectively shook her leg, pulling away and dissolving into giggles.

"So you got tickled here?" Patrick took her other foot, she jerked, laughing, "Thanks for that information."

"Please no!"

But instead, he released her foot and bit her inner thigh. The laughter disappeared, replaced by an almost painful moan.

Patrick removed the stocking from that leg, no longer smoothly or slowly, and kissed her again in the same place where he had bitten. She squirmed, spread her legs wider.

"Patrick, please," she whispered.

He stood up to sit where he had been before, next to her. He leaned into her mouth.

"What do you want, Shelagh?"

She shook her head, pursing her lips, as he ran his hands over her belly, her thighs. He squeezed there, his palm drawing closer to her center.

"Do you like this?"

She nodded, unable to say anything, until she opened her mouth, a gasp escaped.

"I like your hands."

"Yes?"

She nodded again, Patrick squeezed and ran her legs and belly, spreading his fingers. He saw her force herself to look at him, though her eyelids wanted to close. He saw her tighten her fingers on the sheet, pursed her lips in vain as another small moan emerged.

Patrick stroked her belly, moving closer to the white edge of her panties, barely touching them.

He rested his right palm on her center. He swallowed a curse as he felt the wetness seep through the soft fabric of her panties. Shelagh instinctively spread her legs farther, her hips seeking the warmth of his hand. Patrick looked at her, her face was totally abandoned to the sensation, her head was leaning against the headboard, she sighed.

"Lie down," he ordered, his voice came out dominant, he didn't want that but she opened her eyes and obeyed him. In her gaze he could see that she was impatient, almost pleading and ready to do whatever he asked. Realizing that shot his blood.

Shelagh settled on the pillow, her blond hair scattered, her eyes bright and dark. Her lips were swollen from kisses, her body taut. Patrick kissed her softly on the mouth, and rested his palm on her wet, throbbing center.

She sought him out, a complaint rumbling in her mouth. Pulling her lips slightly away, Patrick took a deep breath. She was longing for his touch, so he had to.

His hand separated the top edge of her panties apart, and his fingers found the warm, wet curls. Shelagh groaned, her mouth open, then her lip caught in her teeth, her body seeking more contact with his hand.

Patrick dipped his middle finger, stroking the swollen and wet flesh, trying to do it gently despite the desperate body of Shelagh to meet him. He parted her folds, Shelagh opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her eyelids were tight, her back arched, her hands clenched into fists.

"Patrick please…" she begged, her gaze pleadingly on him. He knew that she was asking for something that perhaps she did not even know what it was, but she was desperate to know it. He stroked slowly with his hand, the sound of her wet flesh mingling with Shelagh's gasps. He quickly located her clitoris, massaged it very gently, paying attention to the signals that Shelagh was giving with her whole body.

He almost forgot about himself, and the growing and painful erection, and his body that asked to be released. All his senses were focused on Shelagh, on this angelic and terribly erotic creature that squirmed under his touch asking for more with inaudible whispers.

He saw her frown, complaining, he supposed the pressure was building but it wasn't breaking and that frustrated her a little. He kissed her on the lips, the clavicle, and tried with his middle finger to penetrate her just a little. Immediately she was totally tense, he found the resistance there and moved away a little.

"Let yourself go, love," he whispered in her ear, his fingers once again dipping into her wetness, caressing her clit. Her back arched further and he could feel her vulva throbbing at the outburst. He stroked with more speed and pressure and at last Shelagh let out a long moan, the loudest of which he had heard so far, before falling on the bed, abandoned, looking for air.

"God...Patrick…" she gasped, putting her hands to her face, "God…"

"That's my girl," he smiled, feeling more than proud. Somehow he had retained his ability and was happy that Shelagh was satisfied.

Carefully he withdrew his hand, without her seeing him sucked on one of his fingers, savoring it. He wanted to do it directly, kiss her there, tangle his tongue in her pink flesh but he sensed it would be too much for Shelagh. There was a honeymoon ahead where he would experience many things with Shelagh's help.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and sitting her next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing hard but weak. He stroked her messy hair, her back. He felt her scent, she smelled Shelagh but she also smelled of sex. His erection became more painful.

Shelagh barely parted, took his chin in one hand and kissed him, languidly first, then hard.

"Do you feel good?" he asked when she released him.

"I feel incredible," she smiled, closing her eyes, and resting her head on his shoulder again, "I never felt anything like that."

"That was an orgasm, my love."

Shelagh grimaced.

"What a horrible name."

He laughed, stroking her sweaty back.

"It doesn't matter the name, but how it feels, isn't it?

She smiled sleepily.

"It felt great."

"This is just the beginning dear, there will be more intense ones, I'll make sure to give them to you."

"Patrick," she whispered, looking elsewhere, her smile tight on her lips, embarrassed.

"I just want you to be happy in all aspects, and much more in this one."

"You will make me happy if you lie here with me, and I want to take off these clothes," she sat up straighter, tugging on his tie.

"Good, now I'll let you do it Mrs Turner."

She kissed him passionately, as it seemed she was going to do every time he called her that. Barely parting, she began undressing him. She did it with concentration, like everything she did.

Patrick tried to breathe calmly, but the sight of Shelagh almost naked on his bed, quickly undoing each button, looking at every part of his body that was exposed, certainly did not help him to stay sane.

Shelagh took off his waistcoat, tossed the tie on the floor, and opened the shirt, running her fingers across his chest. Patrick felt the palms of her hands burn him, even more when she reached down to the waist to take the edge of the vest and throw it over his head.

He tried to hold his hands still, he had already touched Shelagh, he had already taken his time with her and he had to allow her to do the same, but the truth was that the desire was consuming him while she touched all the skin of his chest, almost analyzing it, tangling her fingers in his hair. An involuntary moan escaped, he looked down at where his evident erection was growing, and he was afraid that she would see it and be scared and lose the value she was having until now.

But she not only saw it, but went to his chest to kiss him. Her hot lips sent a jolt through his body and he hugged her, holding her against him, kissing her again, feeling her breasts flat against his chest.

"Shelagh," he moaned into her mouth, and she pulled him away smiling, continuing her task of studying him with her blue and anxious gaze. She ran her hands over his shoulders, over his bare arms.

"I love your arms, seeing them produce things for me," she laughed barely, he hid a lock of hair behind her ear, smiling and surprised by her declaration.

"And me here, thinking I was the pervert for looking at your legs."

She smiled, ran her hands over his chest again, down to his belly. Patrick swallowed hard.

Without warning she got to her knees on the bed, and taking advantage of the fact that she was higher than him, she took his face with both hands and kissed him deeply, with her demanding tongue, her hands pressing him, her body firm against his.

Patrick put his arms around her waist, resting one of his thighs on the bed to be better positioned for this attack of Shelagh that kept devouring him and moaning in his mouth. His new position separated them a little, so she unconsciously pressed closer against his chest and spread her knees a little, almost straddling his thigh, too close to his erection. Patrick released her mouth with a moan, trying to calm himself, but she was almost rubbing against his leg, her bare breasts against his bare chest.

"Shelagh, Shelagh," he said trying to catch air, but she was still sitting on him, he could feel the wetness on his thigh. Patrick looked at her almost astonished to see that perhaps she was unintentionally giving herself pleasure in this way.

Shelagh moved once more against him, kissed him, and gave a short moan.

"I love you Patrick," she sighed in his lips.

With both hands on her back he laid her on the bed and hovered over her, resting his palms on the mattress, adjusting himself. She spread her legs a little wider, looking flushed as she did so. Patrick studied her face, looking for fear or shyness, but she already had her arms around his neck, reaching out to kiss him, running her hands behind his back, squeezing his muscles.

He ran one of his hands across her chest, she gave a small moan, arched her body to be touched. Patrick would never tire of seeing her like this, pleading, with her silky white skin covered in sweat, sensitive everywhere to his touch.

Patrick tightened his eyelids when he felt Shelagh go to his pants again, pulling on the belt, pulling him closer to her.

He swallowed, taking her hand in his.

"Shelagh are you sure? We can do something else, something you feel comfortable with," he begged in his mind, that she did not regret it, that she said yes.

"I don't want to do anything else, Patrick. I want to do this," her hand went back to his pants, he helped her detach the belt and let her take care of finishing undressing him. She did it quickly, undoing the button and unzipping his pants, and he sat up a little to remove it, pushing it with his feet towards the ground.

He turned to look at her, she wasn't looking directly at him, her eyes were looking at his erection.

"Shelagh…"

"Can I…?" she asked, reaching out her hand, "Can I touch you like you touched me? That's fine?"

He sighed, nodding, taking her hand in his and pulling her closer to his hardness. Her heat radiated everywhere and he groaned, throwing his head back, murmuring her name. His hips jumped, searching for more. He opened his eyes, Shelagh looked impressed and squeezed her hand tighter, trying to grab him over the fabric of his underpants but he separated her.

"You can do it later my love, as many times as you want," he withdrew her hand, gave her a kiss on the palm.

"But not now? Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?" her insecurity was there again. He smiled, rubbing his nose with hers.

"You didn't do anything wrong, but if you touch me more, I won't be able to hold on. You have terrible effects on me, Shelagh."

He felt her hand there again and growled, dropping his head against her neck.

"Shelagh, no. Oh, God."

He raised his head and saw her smiling with satisfaction at her new discovery. He felt her squeeze again, but he jerked her hand away and kissed her, resting his entire body on her, feeling her breasts against him. Their mouths parted when they both moaned at the feeling of being so close. He felt her legs wrap around his waist.

He kissed her harder, then bit her jaw, her neck, her chest, down to her panties. She twisted against him, squeezed his hair tight. He hooked her panties with his fingers, slowly lowered them, placing a kiss near her curls. She arched, complained. He dropped the panties on the floor and did the same with his underpants.

He looked at her, she was staring at his now exposed erection. He couldn't tell if in her eyes had fear, confusion, craving, or shame.

"Shelagh, if you don't want…"

"Yes, yes," she looked up, her eyes betraying what she had just said, "It's just...I'm a little scared. Not from you, but that my body doesn't want to or cannot."

He kissed her softly.

"Just relax. Look me in the eyes, try not to think about the pain. But if it hurts a lot, tell me and I'll stop."

"But can you do it?"

"I assure you, I promise. Just tell me. Is it a pact?"

"Yes," she smiled a little, eemed more enthusiastic.

He kissed her with the same softness with which he pushed. Her lips twitched in pain. He decided to stop, withdraw, but Shelagh's hands on his back pushed him closer to her. A growl escaped as he felt her tight and he tried to push a little more.

He looked at her, her eyes were closed and her face was tense.

He stood very still even though his body ordered him to push more. He ran one of his hands down her breasts, stroking slowly, then kissed her neck. He heard a moan from her, which was definitely not pain.

He was so focused on her, trying to go as smooth and slow as possible, that he almost forgot about his own pleasure. When he entered fully, he realized how tight she was around him, and how good she felt.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep things from ending right there, but it would be difficult. Shelagh, his Shelagh, was below him, her perfect legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, moaning and trembling at his intrusion into her body.

All the nights he spent thinking and punishing himself for thinking about this, couldn't compare at all to this moment.

He took a deep breath, and looked at her.

"Good?"

She nodded slightly.

"I'll go very slowly, darling, don't worry."

He kissed her again, his hands walking her body, and he searched her entrance with his fingers. He touched her, she arched and moaned, knowing what his fingers could make her feel. Patrick felt that she was more relaxed and at the same time more excited, but not sore.

He began to enter and exit slowly, each time requiring more effort not to get carried away. He continued to touch her, trying to make her feel more satisfaction and less pain. He needed her to come again, he couldn't finish alone, he had promised himself that this must be all about her and for her. And besides, his selfish side wanted to feel her tighten around him, to see her pleased face again, to know that only he was producing these things in her and would be the only one to do it, forever.

She closed her eyes, her lips tight. She ran her hands down his arms, squeezing them.

"Shelagh look at me," he demanded. She looked at him, her eyes were dark and shiny. A moan caught in his throat.

"Patrick," she complained, her hips taking control, meeting him, desperate to keep him inside. He closed his eyes, growled, begging for more time to prolong the pleasure.

He pressed more with his fingers on her clit as he entered again, deeper. She let out a long, high moan, throwing her head back, exposing her neck to his mouth. He bit her there, she met him more strongly. Her hands took him by the shoulders, then tightened his back, pulling him against her.

"Patrick," she said barely, and then her lips formed a line and a series of short moans resounded, until she opened her mouth, complaining, and a gasp left her breathless.

He wanted to hug her, hold her against him, but nevertheless he tried to stay still just to look at her, feeling how he was tightening more, how her body tried to cling to his with all her strength, how she let herself be dragged by the force of her feelings.

Shelagh was the living image of pleasure, it was perfection.

She fell onto the bed, gasping for air. Patrick kissed her, she barely replied, still moaning a little. Her arms were loose on him, and she opened her eyes, they were wet.

"Patrick," she whispered, swallowed hard. She touched his face, smiled, and he knew she was satisfied and happy.

"I love you."

Shelagh smiled more, then looked down and moved her hips.

"Shit!" he hissed and heard her laugh a little.

"That vocabulary," she touched his lips with one finger, then kissed him, moving her hips again.

Patrick just closed his eyes, his last resistances vanished. He couldn't control himself anymore, not when she seemed to urge him to break free.

He went in and out a couple more times, before falling, pulsing inside her hard, trembling with pleasure and heat, repeating her name over and over again. She moaned once more in his ear, hugged him with her arms and legs.

With the heartbeat still in his ears, he sat up, resting the hands on the mattress, to analyze her. Shelagh's eyes were wide with surprise, irregular breathing, blush and sweat covered her, her parted lips formed a small smile.

He kissed her languidly, and tried to pull away from her, but she held him back.

"No, don't go."

He smiled, he didn't want to leave her. He had months and months waiting for this, he wanted to prolong it as much as possible. But the reality was that Shelagh was very small under him. Perhaps soon they would change their positions and he would not be forced to leave her, because she would be on him.

He pushed back the hair that covered his sweaty forehead.

"I'll crush you, love."

She laughed a little, shook her head.

"No, you will not," she hugged him, pulled him to her, and he rested his head on the hollow of her neck. He felt her stroke his hair.

"Shelagh are you okay?" he sat up, she nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine," her smile and her almost childish enthusiasm moved him. This beautiful person, inside and out, was happy to be with him in bed.

"Didn't I hurt you? It felt good?"

"It felt perfect, Patrick," she wet her lips, "I didn't know I could feel that much and so intensely. I'm a little sore but I know it's normal."

Patrick kissed her forehead, slowly came out of her and rolled to her side, drawing her to his chest. She snuggled in, hugging him.

"Didn't I scare you?"

"You could never scare me," Patrick sighed excitedly at the level of trust she had in him. He hoped never to disappoint her.

She kissed his chest, sighing contentedly.

"And did you feel good?" She asked suddenly, sitting up.

"I felt in heaven. Being with you is being in heaven, no matter what we are doing. Shelagh, you make me happy."

She smiled, however a tear ran down her cheek.

"Shelagh, did I say something wrong?"

"Don't worry," she said smiling, touching his face, "It's just that…I also feel very happy, and…I love you so much!" she wiped another tear, -I told you, I'm a fool."

"No, honey, you're not that," he hugged her against him, kissed her hair,"I love you too, my beautiful girl," he felt her smile against his chest.

For a few minutes they were silent, their breaths were regularized, and Shelagh seemed to fall asleep, exhausted from all day.

He saw the hairs on her skin stand on end and he pulled away from her arms.

"Shelagh you are cold, you're shaking."

She opened her eyes, stretched to the end of the bed to grab the covers. Patrick looked at her glorious figure, her smooth back, her perfect butt, and swallowed, holding back not to touch or bite it. There would be time for all that, but now he didn't want to scare her with his wildest thoughts.

She snuggled in and he covered her, trying to make her skin warm. She sighed contently, allowing herself to be embraced. His own eyelids began to drop, his hand slowing down her back and her hip as sleep overcame him.

"Patrick?" He heard her, barely above a whisper, her accent thicker from sleep.

"Hmm, does something hurt, love?" he settled her tangled hair into the pillow.

"No,"Shelagh's eyes widened, the sleep seemed to have flown,"I was just wondering…"

"What?"

A mischievous little smile made its appearance.

"Can we do it again?"

He stared at her in amazement until she giggled, he joined her, hugging her, kissing her hair, her eyelids, her nose, her mouth.

"Oh my God, I think I woke up a little beast!"

She laughed more, but kissed him deeply. He let himself go, hugging her and feeling her warmth, asking for more.

Patrick would never tire of giving her love. He felt that his mission in life was accomplished if Shelagh felt loved.


End file.
